


Meant To Be

by shinigami_yumi



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: BDSM, Fantasy, Future Fic, M/M, Sexual Slavery, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-29
Updated: 2006-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 48,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami_yumi/pseuds/shinigami_yumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When thirty-year-old Tezuka Kunimitsu, now a shipping tycoon in Los Angeles, comes across an illegal shipment of labourers at the docks, the last thing he expects is to find Fuji Shuusuke amongst them. To avoid complications, he takes Seigaku's former tensai in while keeping his own identity a secret, but soon discovers that Japan's many Yakuza clans are after Fuji for reasons unknown.</p><div class="center">
  <p>Some things are just meant to be.</p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>No matter how much time has passed,</p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>No matter how far,</p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>The Fates will always have their way...</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ship Ahoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Reuploading by popular request.
> 
> Unfortunately, I lost interest in Prince of Tennis many years ago, and I barely even remember the characters in this story anymore, so I'm afraid I will never finish this fic. I'm very sorry. I know that's not what you were all hoping to hear.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who read, reviewed and remained interested all these years. It has made me very happy to hear from you and to know that you liked my work. I like to think that I've grown as a writer, and looking back now, I'm not very proud of the writing I did in this story, but it comforts me to know it has brought so many people enjoyment all the same. Many thanks again for your continued support, and I hope that I will someday have the chance to write a fic you love again.

Tezuka Kunimitsu was thirty this year. It seemed like only yesterday when he had led Seigaku Tennis Club with that white racquet that now hung in a beautiful wooden frame in his study, when he had trained and played his favourite sport everyday with the Regulars, looking forward to one tournament after another, one championship after another, the celebratory dinners at Kawamura’s sushi restaurant, and even having the occasional one-night-stand with a certain beautiful blue-eyed tensai on his team. They never loved each other, of course; it was simply a way of fulfilling mutual sexual needs. Yet, it had been fifteen years since then. The tennis club captain was now a shipping tycoon; where he was once surrounded by tennis, now he was surrounded by ships; where he once lived in Tokyo, he now lived in a mansion in uptown Los Angeles. Back then, he played tennis everyday, now it was, at best, a twice-weekly affair.

He looked out the window of the small office at the top of his warehouse by the docks at the ship that was currently being unloaded. This shipment of Italian furniture was going to earn him a few million upon delivery. They probably needed a few more dockhands for the next few shipments. Things weren’t being moved efficiently enough for his liking. He shifted his gaze further out towards the sea. The full moon was reflected in a bright shining white circle off the ocean surface. There were ships moving to and fro, some docking, some leaving. A white one was moving into the next pier; it was brown and white to be exact and called the S.S. Artemis as was indicated by the bust of the Greek Goddess of the moon and hunting and the name written on the hull.

“Katsu, a shipment of labourers,” came a soft deep voice beside him.

“S.S. Artemis?” he checked.

“Aa,” the other confirmed. “The company that owns her runs something like an underground slavery ring, importing people from other countries here to work for low or at times, no pay at all at the docks, maybe, or places like whorehouses, underground casinos, or rich crime-lords’ houses. Maybe we can get some cheap labour there. It’s all clandestine and no one knows exactly how many make it here. There are always those that die en route and get thrown overboard. The boss won’t notice if we take a few and let the boatman keep the cut. They’re probably better off with us anyway; Tezuka Kunimitsu never mistreats his workers, after all.” A grin spread wide on the fair face as he finished.

Tezuka turned to face his right-hand-man and best friend of ten years, Kanou Izumi. They had met in university when they were both doing their business degrees and had kind of somehow managed to worm their way into each other’s hearts somewhat. Following Tezuka’s swift rise in the shipping industry, Izumi had ended up working for him and was now his most trusted subordinate as well as the only one who got away with calling him that nickname. The half-American had soft flaxen hair with a long rat-tail adorned with a tiny bow at the top, sparkling hazel eyes, and an easy smile. He spoke Japanese with a peculiar American accent that Echizen never developed and sometimes his English had a slight Japanese accent, which was just downright puzzling, since he hadn’t spent more than two years in Japan collectively.

“Aa. We go then.”

Having said that, the shipping magnate turned and made his way out the door of the tiny office with the blonde close behind, down the metal staircase past his bodyguards, some of which joined him, and out the warehouse’s gate. The band made its way down to the next pier even as the ship was pulled in by tugboat and moored. A gangway was put up for people to cross and no sooner was it in place than were Tezuka and his entourage across and on board, surveying the ship. She was a fine vessel, only in need of some cleaning after the long journey. The sea breeze was cool as it blew past the mogul, messing up his already artfully messed dark hair. He could smell the sea spray on the wind, taste it on his lips, salty and by now, as familiar as home... or depending on where he thought of as home, perhaps more familiar now than that.

“Ah... Mister Tezuka. Good evening, sir. How may I help you?” asked a flustered burly typical American sailor, well into his forties and an experienced seaman by the looks of it. Anyone in the American shipping industry who was anyone at all knew Tezuka Kunimitsu; quite a number of the nobodies did too.

He fixed the man with an intimidating look. Not that he had to try; Tezuka Kunimitsu was intimidating by nature anyway. The armed bodyguards were probably adding to the whole effect. “~You the captain?” he asked calmly.

“Yes, sir.”

“From?”

“The cargo, sir?”

A curt nod.

“Sailed from the Far East.” A pause. “Most are from other countries in that region,” he quickly said, recalling the tycoon’s true nationality. “Sir,” the man added hastily.

His homeland, interesting. “I want to see.”

“Yes, sir, right away.” He turned to the other sailors. “Bring out the cargo, boys!” he shouted to them.

“Yes, captain!” came the collective replying shout.

“Pardon me, sir,” he said timidly, turning back to Tezuka.

He didn’t get a response. Tezuka watched as the labourers were brought out on deck, one after another. “Izumi,” he said calmly.

“Aa,” the blonde answered, stifling a chuckle as he came forward.

The magnate simply leaned back on the railing, watching the slaves being brought out, not caring that he was perhaps soiling his expensive black designer suit, leaving it to his assistant to handle the haggling. Suddenly, a young man with honey-brown hair caught his eye as he was roughly brought out on deck. The man immediately turned away from the bright lights at the pier. Tezuka straightened and placed his hand on his best friend’s shoulder, halting the bargaining temporarily. “That one,” he murmured to Izumi, pointing to the young man. “The one with the honey-brown hair there. Take him and pick ten others. Blindfold and bind them, then show me in the warehouse. Ask them for names and nationalities as well. Don’t mention me.” With an affirmative nod from his right-hand-man, he turned and left for the warehouse, followed by the bodyguards, two of which remained with Izumi, making his way back to the tiny office at the top to do some paperwork while waiting for the men.

~*~*~*~

Tezuka gazed impassively at the eleven men kneeling on the ground before him, or rather more specifically, staring at one of the eleven. It was unmistakable. Fifteen years was not long enough to wipe or even fade the memory of his former teammate in his mind. Even the former scent of now unkempt and presumably long-unwashed honey-brown tresses, the feel of now grimy porcelain skin, and the taste of now chapped and cracking soft primrose lips still lingered vividly in his memory.

“Katsu.”

Tezuka gave his best friend his best glare, knowing that it didn’t work anyway.

He only received a grin in response. “Here’s what we have. From the left: Ashok and Rajah from India, Yong and Park from North Korea, Lee from South Korea, Chow, Tang and Jing from China, Fuji from uh, well, you know where... Nongkorn from Thailand, and Sung from Myanmar.”

Well, well, definitely unmistakable, although he hadn’t the foggiest how the tensai had managed to land himself in this situation. Anyway, it was best that Fuji never found out who his employer was, he decided. The lovely tennis prodigy didn’t have any legal documentation here or even back in Japan and he probably couldn’t afford to get them from the government; that made him illegal anywhere. Tezuka couldn’t quite help him without getting everyone in trouble. Thus, that left one other solution. He led Izumi further away by the arm until he was sure that he was out of the men’s earshot.

“Send everyone except the Japanese one to the docks. Take him back to the house.”

Hazel eyes widened in surprise. “You don’t mean... You’re going...” the half-American sputtered.

“Guy doesn’t look suited for the job. I have a better occupation in mind.”

Kanou Izumi just gaped at his best friend of ten years. “You... You’re going to use him **that** way?! I mean, it’s okay with me and I think you’ve got pretty good taste and all, you know, but...”

The look on the other’s face convinced Izumi that it was wisest that he shut up. “I beg your pardon?” That dangerous edge to his employer’s voice was not a good sign.

The blonde just shook his head. “Whatever the boss says, I guess,” he replied easily with a careless shrug. It probably wasn’t his business what Tezuka did in his own time anyway. He learned not to question the man’s weird quirks aeons ago. It probably had to do with his sexuality and Japanese upbringing. Those people were just... weird, even if he was partly Jap himself. _I mean, who else comes out with stuff like that?_ He thought about the humanoid pillows he discovered on a trip back to visit his paternal grandparents; he had bought Tezuka one and given it to him as a birthday present shortly after returning. There were two varieties, a man-shaped one for women and a woman-shaped one for men; since Tezuka was gay, he bought him the man-shaped one. His best friend’s vengeance was to double the week’s normal workload in addition to the work that had already piled up during his absence; let it never be said that Tezuka Kunimitsu wasn’t vindictive; he was just so fucking subtle at it. _Well, at least he kept the pillow,_ he thought as he turned to delegate the duties for the night even as the man in question left the warehouse with several bodyguards at his heels.

~*~*~*~

Tezuka looked up from where he sat on the smooth leather couch of his living room, dressed in a burgundy sweater and dark gray slacks, fresh from a warm shower, reading the day’s second newspaper and sipping a cup of sencha as the door opened to admit Izumi, Fuji, and some of his other henchmen. Only his right-hand-man passed through the elegant stainless steel arch in the sanded glass divider between the outer hallway and the living room to speak privately with him.

“Katsu-chan, what now?”

Tezuka gave the guy a warning look. Katsu, he could still put up with, Katsu-chan was just pushing it.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Further instructions?” The blonde glanced in the direction of the other men approximately fifteen metres away, or more specifically, at his best friend’s chosen slave.

“My parents room.”

“What?!” He couldn’t have heard right. The room Tezuka’s parents used whenever they visited? The one adjoining Tezuka’s own?

“You heard me.”

“But... He’s... Well, contraband,” Izumi protested. “What do we do if the cops visit?”

“What we always do.”

“You can’t be serious, man. He’s just a slave!”

“So would you be if that’s what I wanted,” the other pointed out bluntly.

Right, never Tezuka to waste words unnecessarily. He conceded that his employer did have a point though. “Fine. Anything else?”

“Have him bathe and dress, get him fed... something simple but healthy like ramen and apples, then bind and blindfold him again.” The instructions were clear and concise as always and the tycoon turned back to the tabloid.

“Yes, sir.” The half-American mock-saluted before leaning closer to whisper conspiratorially in the other’s ear. “Shall I deck pretty boy in leather and serve him garnished on a silver platter?” he suggested, twirling the flaxen rat-tail around his right index finger.

“Next week, you won’t get to leave your desk for even a minute.”

Izumi laughed merrily, hazel eyes a-twinkle. “You’re mean, Katsu-chan.”

“Two weeks,” he amended without looking up.

The blonde let out a melodramatic sigh. His best friend was a slave driver sometimes. He shook his head and made his way back resignedly to his subordinates to organize the handling of what he liked to think of as his Katsu-chan’s newest toy. Perhaps he would take his own suggestion after all, he thought gleefully, and let Katsu-chan thank or punish him for it later, after he had sufficiently amused himself, that is.

~*~*~*~

Fuji Shuusuke blinked bleary cerulean blue eyes at the round white lights on the ceiling above him as he was pushed rather roughly onto a bed and the blindfold was removed from his eyes as his bindings were cut. The ceiling was matte beige painted plaster and as his eyes got adjusted to the light, he took in his surroundings. The room he was in was clearly a bedroom, tastefully furnished and decorated, with pastel blue walls painted in gloss finish, teal-coloured borders, and a fuzzy blue-gray carpet. The king-sized bed he was on had a pale blue duvet depicting fishes in many various darker shades of blue and clean white covers. The other furnishings were perfectly polished rosewood, their auburn-brown hues and matching golden handles lending warmth to the otherwise cool room.

Decorative objects were few, but they completed the picture beautifully. A pot of Japanese bamboo graced the rear right corner, while a stainless steel wastebasket stood in the rear left one. Atop a long low chest of rosewood drawers beneath the windowsill to his right, stood two medium-sized pyramid-shaped lavender-coloured candles on simple china dishes with a small potted bonsai in between. A small bouquet of fresh jasmine flowers in a slender aqua glass vase stood on the centre of the polished surface of a round coffee table surrounded by two Prussian blue leather armchairs to his left, adding an extra touch of nature and a sweet scent to the room. The oval mirror’s and the window’s stainless steel rimming was elegant simplicity and Prussian blue cotton curtains adorned the window to make a distinct contrast with the walls. There was a lilac cushion on the dresser stool before the dresser directly in front of him and the rosewood cupboard had skilfully carved doors. Even the three heavy wooden doors were painted with tinted varnish to resemble rosewood and had golden knobs.

“Bathe,” the soft deep voice he recognized as his main captor’s said, pulling him from his lengthy observation. There were now only two armed bodyguards beside the blonde; the rest appeared to have remained outside. All in all, the slim blonde was very attractive in his tailor-made black suit, almost as attractive as some tennis players he used to know from what now seemed like a different life. The sparkling hazel eyes set in a fine-boned fair face with soft lips set in an easy grin made him appear much younger than was likely.

“You brought me here,” he croaked softly; his mouth and lips were parched; even the usual smiling hurt.

The grin widened. “Yeah,” he replied easily, his Japanese heavily accented and peculiar sounding, but understandable nonetheless. “Not the one that ordered you to be brought here though,” he continued. He whipped out what seemed to be a kind of walkie-talkie and pressed one of several buttons on it.

\--Kitchen. Kanou-sama, may I help you?-- came a polite female voice over the device after a slight buzz.

“Yeah, get some water up to the room beside Katsu’s right now.” A pause. “The food Katsu ordered can wait. Water now.”

\--Yes, sir. Is there anything else?—

“No, just whatever Katsu says you should bring.” And Kanou shut the device before the lady could reply. Returning his attention to him, Kanou smiled again. “Kanou Izumi.”

“Fuji Shuusuke,” he managed to whisper hoarsely. Damn, it hurt to speak. “Who’s Katsu?” he asked anyway, trying to moisten his arid throat by swallowing; it didn’t work.

“Now that’s your master, the one that had you brought here.”

Fuji restrained himself from informing the man that he had no master. “I’m to stay in this room?” he asked instead.

“Yup! Until further notice, indefinitely, you are not to leave this room.” God, how cheerful he sounded at the prospect.

Just then, there was a knock at the door and a guard went to open it. A woman, obviously a maid from her uniform, stepped in carrying a small tray with a large jug of water and two glasses on it. Kanou pointed to the coffee table and she obediently set it down before bowing politely to the blonde and leaving without ever saying a word. His captor inclined a head in the direction of the water then and he quickly hurried over to lift the entire jug to his lips and down the cool liquid greedily. Throughout the long voyage, the slaves had only been given enough food and water to subsist on; their condition later depended on who bought them.

Kanou Izumi raised an eyebrow at the way the Japanese slave was gulping the water directly from the jug; he had no idea the guy was so dehydrated. Anyhow, he could see what about the young man had caught his best friend’s eye. The other’s body was willowy, and yet it wasn’t weak; there was a kind of resilience in that slender form kneeling by the low table that did nothing to diminish the delicate grace of movement and appearance it possessed. Grimy unkempt shoulder-length honey-brown locks would be shiny and soft if washed and brushed properly; a nice trimming with a little layering would also help.

Big cerulean blue eyes peered out of a beautiful heart-shaped face with a flawless complexion that some cleansing and moisturising would bring out and primrose lips would be soft and sweet after several applications of lip balm. Dry gritty porcelain skin would be silky smooth with a good shower and some lotion. Well, none of which he couldn’t handle personally as it was. He grinned gleefully; he had after all promised Katsu garnishing and silver platters.

“Shower,” he told the other, when the jug was empty. “Make it quick, but clean. Everything you need should be inside.” He indicated the bathroom.

Fuji looked in the direction of the bathroom. He didn’t take orders very well, but he did need a bath, so he simply stood and silently made his way over.

“Robes and towels ~ in the cupboard and don’t blow-dry your hair yet,” came the next input as he stepped past and into the room indicated, slamming and bolting the door behind him.

It was totally different from the room he left, if equally classy. The sink was marble, as were the tiles on the wall and floor that fit perfectly together with only a thin line of cement between them. The light above the large rectangular steel-rimmed mirror was a long fluorescent tube in an elegant sanded glass and steel casing and next to the mirror, a white hair-dryer hung on the wall. A small black tray had been placed next to the sink with two glasses, two toothbrush sets with toothpaste and floss, two white hand towels, a comb, a medium-sized bottle of lightly-scented lotion, and a small wrapped bar of soap. On the other side of the sink was a small golden soap dish and further to the side, a small white vase held a single purple orchid.

A white foot-mat lay on the floor before the white bathtub and the shower curtain was a pristine white. All metal parts were stainless steel and the toilet seat had a plastic cover that changed with the press of a red button on the side. Beside the toilet bowl stood the black rubbish bin and behind him, beside the door, was a ceiling-high wooden cabinet painted in rich mahogany like this side of the door. The large round light on the white ceiling with white borders in its sanded glass casing had a purple flower pattern on the glass and a polished steel rim. It looked more like the presidential suite of a five-star hotel than a house.

The former tennis tensai looked in the mirror then. He could no longer recognize the man that stared back at him. Gone was the teenage tennis prodigy along with the light in intense cerulean blue eyes. Now the blue orbs seemed empty and lifeless, like the once nonchalant smile that now seemed so strained. He reached up to touch his face, tracing the lines the years had wrought there, giving it a slightly more masculine appearance. The scruffy look to once neat chin-length hair was as alien as the grey... polluted air about him. He felt tired every so often; it was exhausting living without a purpose like the lifeless doll he had become.

The healthy glow from regular exercise was also gone, leaving his fair skin somewhat pale and almost sickly. Fuji Shuusuke was... gone, almost like a dream he had lived as another life. No matter how he said they could never break him, they had somewhat managed, at least worn him down if not anyway. The broken haunted look was there sometimes when he looked long enough into those now dull eyes, the eyes of one who had seen too much of the world, the eyes of one who had lost himself to the harsh realities life put forth. No, he no longer knew the fifteen-year-old tensai who had once been one of the country’s best junior high tennis players. That boy had died a long time ago with all that had once been a part of that life. Fuji Shuusuke was just a name now, no more.

He turned and undressed, reaching to open the cabinet. He grabbed a white towel and a white robe and closed the door again before putting both on the towel rack on the wall above the far end of the tub. Naked, he stepped into the shower and drew the curtain before turning the taps to adjust the water temperature. He hadn’t had the luxury of a warm shower since he had been that boy, hadn’t been clean either literally or otherwise in aeons. He let the water cascade over him for a few minutes, feeling his tensed muscles from the long journey in the ship’s cramped cargo bay relax, before reaching for the bottle of lightly-scented shampoo that stood with a bottle of similar shower gel, a matching bottle of conditioner, and a tube of facial cleanser on a triangle metal ledge in a corner.

Working the shampoo into his hair, he tried to remember the last time he had showered properly and found that he didn’t know. It was a few days before the voyage and he had no idea how long that was. Grabbing the tube of cleanser, he squeezed some out and scrubbed the dirt off his face with it before rinsing both shampoo and cleanser off. Then, he rubbed in conditioner and proceeded to grab the sponge hanging off the ledge and squirting some shower gel on it, rather roughly scoured the thick layer of grime off his skin paying more attention to his lower body; there was probably more than just physical filth there anyway. Cleaning long and blackened fingernails, he perched at the edge of the tub to soap his somewhat blistered feet before getting back under the shower to rinse everything off. He finally ended the shower with a short cold rinse and turned the taps to stop the water.

Drawing the shower curtain back, Fuji grabbed the towel off the rack and dried himself thoroughly before taking the robe with him and stepping out of the bathtub to dry his feet on the foot-mat. He paused to consider the bottle of lotion. Yes, he decided, he would pamper himself this time. Who knows if he would ever get the chance again? Yet, considering the current situation, he already had an inkling as to what sort of slave he was about to become. He smiled wistfully at his reflection in the mirror as he applied the moisturiser to his skin; it wasn’t that much of a blessing to be beautiful; you ended up being used like that. _No,_ he thought, _you’d always be used as long as you lived, whether or not you were pretty; the only difference was how you were used._

He finished rubbing on the lotion and put on the robe. He fastened the sash around his waist and reached for the comb to untangle some knots in his hair. Then, he took a deep breath and opened the door and stared. A large piece of plastic lay beneath the dresser stool and Kanou had a long comb and a small pair of scissors in his hands. A set of cerulean blue linen pajamas lay on the bed waiting and a small bag of toiletries sat on the dressing table. The former tennis prodigy turned cerulean blue eyes on a certain grinning half-American to give said other a questioning look.

“Sit there. You’re getting a haircut!” the blonde announced gleefully.

Even as he moved to obey, Fuji absently wondered if he had heard head-cut instead; the manic gleam in hazel eyes reminded him of a similar sadistic gleam that once belonged in a young tennis tensai’s blue eyes at the sight of a certain data-collector’s vegetable juice. But the other simply ran the comb several times through his hair before asking if he had any preferences. There was a long pause as he debated the matter. Finally, he reluctantly requested layered chin-length. With a grin that Fuji rather hypocritically found suspicious, his captor-turned-stylist nodded and began pinning up layers of hair with some pelicans from his pocket before snipping enthusiastically at the bottommost layer of honey-brown locks.

“Here, clip those nails. File them down too if you want,” Kanou said, handing him a nail-clipper. “From that scent, I see you’ve taken care of the moisturising. Well, after this, you’re going to have to rinse the hair and with it, some lotion off.”

“Kanou-san...”

“Izumi,” the blonde corrected. “Katsu-chan’s bed-slave can call me like his master does, ne?” he continued rhetorically.

Well, looks like he was right after all. It wasn’t a very long-term profession usually. People tired of such servants quickly and then, they would be discarded for a new toy. He sighed softly. Not that he wanted to be one at all, but sometimes, that whole pick-tire-toss-pick again process left him feeling so used. No, he amended, even if it was permanent, he’d still feel used. Anyone would, he supposed; people had feelings after all. Perhaps it would be better sometimes if they didn’t. Yet, he was fairly resigned to his fate. At any rate, this Izumi sounded like Katsu-chan’s very open-minded lover and well, he didn’t seem too bad. Perhaps his lover wasn’t so bad either.

“Hey, you don’t have to be so down about it, you know. Katsu’s really nice at heart. He’s even letting you sleep tonight,” Izumi informed him.

That didn’t make him nice, really, but people were nice to some people and not to others. Fuji strongly doubted he belonged in the ‘some people’ category. Well, at least Katsu had consideration enough to let him rest after the voyage. And if Izumi was really as nice as he seemed, well, chances were that Katsu couldn’t be all that evil either. At least, he was getting some decent food and peaceful sleep tonight; it was better than nothing, he decided as he finished clipping his nails to a suitable length and began filing them down instead; he’d had worse clients before who had cared nothing for his general welfare. This was a fair bit better anyway.

“What’s he like?” he asked at last.

“Hm? Katsu? He says he’ll let you find out personally,” the blonde replied, now unpinning another layer of hair to cut. Well, theoretically, Tezuka had told him not to say anything about him at all, but it all added up to the same thing depending on how one looked at it.

“What... did he say about me?” Fuji tried.

“Nothing. Just to clean you well, feed you well, give you some clothes, and let you sleep well tonight. Oh, he also mentioned tying you up and blindfolding you though. Fringe?”

“Yes, please.” That didn’t sound too bad, really. At least, it wasn’t caging. “I never knew businessmen learned hairdressing as part of the course.”

The half-American laughed cheerily. “No, they don’t. Else Katsu would have learned baking,” he joked. “No, I learned from my mom; she was a hairstylist at this Beverly Hills hair salon for as long as I can remember. Head stylist too, at that. She cut my hair this way,” he explained, flicking the rat-tail forward.

“Aa.”

“There, we’re done.” Izumi combed through one last time and trimmed a little at the edges to tidy up the cut. “Go rinse off,” he instructed, dusting some hair off the robe.

Fuji looked at his reflection in the mirror before him. It was almost identical to that of the fifteen-year-old boy he used to be. Well, it was easier to change the outside than the in- and inside was what mattered. He restrained a sigh and bit his lip thoughtfully instead. “Is... anyone here uh...”

“Gay?” the blonde supplied helpfully.

“A... Aa.” Funny he should ask though, considering the life he had led thus far.

“Besides Katsu? No. Well, not quite, I guess. I’m bi, but you can go right ahead and take it all off right here. The guards won’t blink and I’d definitely appreciate a free show even if I won’t touch Katsu’s stuff.”

Fuji blinked at the other. _Say what?_ he wanted to ask.

The other chortled merrily again. “Just drop the robe and go rinse. You’re so fun to tease, just like Katsu-chan,” he replied between chuckles.

 _You’re so fun to tease..._ It sounded familiar, something a certain prodigious tennis player would say to his now dead little brother. The thought brought a pang of sadness. But because a streak of that prodigious tennis player still lived in the corner of his numb heart, Fuji vindictively did exactly as he was told, dropping the robe right where he stood, shrugging it effortlessly off slim shoulders as he tugged on the sash. He didn’t get the effect he wanted though; the two guards really failed to even bat an eye and Izumi just gave him an assessing look.

“Not bad... Katsu-chan’s got good taste, ne... Oh, wait up.” The blonde whipped a length of measuring tape from his pocket and stepped closer to start measuring his waist, hips, shoulders and chest.

The former tensai raised an eyebrow at the guy. His captor had yet to change, so he was still wearing that black suit he first saw him in; Fuji never knew it was possible for a well-fitted suit to have that much pocket space and yet not seem to bulge.

“Hm... About my size, huh? Just a head shorter... PJs should fit then. I know what to get, yeah,” he muttered, keeping the tape and inclining his head towards the bathroom.

Right then, Fuji Shuusuke decided that he was tired and would just ignore the weirdness and rinse off the hair so he could dry his hair and go sleep. He went and simply stood under the shower for a few minutes letting the water-spray carry the stray honey-brown strands away before stepping out and drying himself with the same towel he had used the last shower.

“Here, use this.” Izumi handed him a large hairbrush just as he reached for the hairdryer.

As he absently brushed and blew his hair dry, there was a knock on the door that Izumi went to answer. His nostrils were immediately assailed by the aroma of freshly cooked garlic and pork-chop ramen and he was reminded then by a growling stomach that he was famished. He vaguely recalled the few ration-biscuits he had been given during the voyage and realized how severely deprived of food he was. He had barely noticed anything besides the pain of torn and cramped muscles in the dank putrid confined space of the ship’s cargo area with whatever other freight they had down there.

“Yo, ~ you done? Dinner or supper, depending on how you look at it, is here,” his captor called. The guy was so cheerful, it was beginning to get grating.

He blew his hair all over one last time and brushed it into place before stepping out of the bathroom. “Yeah,” he murmured softly.

“Now, now, don’t you go flashing like that. It’s okay with just me, but you shouldn’t traumatize the nice lady here like that now, huh?” the blonde chastised even as he caught sight of the now blushing kitchen girl setting his food down on the coffee table.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, turning around and walking back into the bathroom.

“Uh, no sir, I’m just leaving,” she said and immediately rose and fled the chamber.

“Bad boy, flashing like that. Keep the free shows down, will ya?” came the other man’s oddly accented Japanese. “Put some clothes on, for God’s sake and eat before the food gets cold.”

As he moved to do as he was told, Fuji wondered why the other even bothered telling him to do common sense things like that. _Must be the American thing,_ he thought. The pajama pants was considerably longer than his legs and he had to roll it up to walk. Having done that, he ambled over to the coffee table and kneeled down on the carpet only to stare at the tray of food. A large bowl of ramen topped with a juicy pork-chop and a plate of cut apples complete with a bottle of chilli powder and a glass of iced apple cider lay before him on the black plastic tray with a porcelain spoon and pair of stainless steel chopsticks. All the dishes were china, adorned with beautifully painted floral designs. Just his luck they decided to serve his favourite food, huh?

“What’s wrong with the food? You look like it’s gonna bite you,” Izumi commented, dropping into the nearest armchair with a loud plop.

He picked up the chopsticks. “Who decided?”

“What?”

“The food.”

“Katsu-chan ordered. Why?”

“My favourite...” he mumbled. “Each and every one of it. Itadakimasu.”

“Well, good for you then,” the half-American returned before gaping at the inhumane amount of chilli powder the other was emptying into his bowl. _None of my business,_ he decided and chose not to comment.

The pretty slave before him finished the entire meal, drink and all, in twenty minutes and ended with a quiet ‘gochisou’.

“Brush teeth,” he ordered quietly.

“I can do that without being told to,” the other riposted.

“Well, I mean now.” Look what energy does to a person, huh?

“Of course you did,” came the reply with a niko smile.

Fuji stood and went to brush his teeth calmly. When he reappeared from the bathroom, Izumi indicated the dresser again and this time he was too sleepy to argue, so he obediently dropped onto the stool wordlessly. The blonde opened the toiletries bag then and took out a bottle of toner and a cotton pad. Dampening the pad with the toner, he handed it to the former tennis prodigy who took it silently. It took him a moment to recall what it was for as he couldn’t remember the last time he had used toner on his face; he was lucky enough to even get soap. Rubbing the moist pad on his skin, he let his captor apply some hair-gloss to his mane. Then, the other handed him a small tub of facial moisturiser and as he smeared the cream on his visage, Izumi took a stick of lip balm and began applying it to his lips. And that’s where the dream ended. The blonde clapped his hands and the two guards came with a fresh blindfold and new ropes.

“Well, time’s up, I’m afraid. Katsu says to tie and blindfold you before tucking you in. Love to stay longer, but I need my beauty sleep too, you know.”

Not seeing any way out of the situation, Fuji simply held out his hands resignedly in silence.

“Cooperative now, aren’t we?” He took a blinker from a guard and handed it to the lovely slave. “Wear this first; apparently, Katsu-chan doesn’t want to hurt those pretty eyes.”

Mutely, Fuji put on the blinker and let his hands and feet be bound. He felt them carry him to the bed and cover him with the blanket before tying the ropes to the bed. The ropes connecting his hands and feet to the bed were long enough for him to sleep comfortably and while the bonds were too tight to slip off, they didn’t restrict his blood flow. He hadn’t lain on a bed just to sleep in aeons. Whenever he did sleep on a bed, it was always because he needed the money and the one paying him usually didn’t care if he got to rest or not. It was warm, dark, and comfortable and he felt himself dozing off already.

“Sleep tight then!” Izumi’s voice was a jolly chirp. Soft lips he assumed belonged to the cheerful blonde pecked him on the forehead affectionately, before their owner called a merry ‘good night’ and he heard switches being flipped assumingly to turn off the lights. Then a door clicked shut and he was left alone to the quiet hum of the air-conditioning. It wasn’t long before he drifted off to pleasant dreams of better days and the image of boy with honey-brown hair cropped short and grey eyes, blushing as his older brother teased him mercilessly about having an incestuous relationship.


	2. Serve Me Love On A Silver Platter

“You’re awake,” a deep silken voice greeted his ears.

Fuji stirred in bed, realizing that his hands and feet were still bound and the blindfold was still on. The dream had been pleasant, if now tinged with bitterness at the realization that the people within in were long gone. /Yuuta,/ he thought sadly. The voice wasn’t Izumi’s, yet it seemed familiar. Perhaps this man had once been a client and having enjoyed his services, wanted him for keeps, at least until he got bored. The subtle scent of cologne permeated the air; it was foreign, nothing he had ever smelled before in Japan, but unmistakably cologne nonetheless. It smelled pleasantly of cinnamon and vanilla, with orange and bergamot undertones. It was a nice fragrance, not particularly fitting of the situation. He sat up slightly.

“You’re Katsu,” he stated simply.

“That’s ‘Master’ to you,” came the simple correction. The words tasted alien on Tezuka’s lips, but he had come to the conclusion yesterday, that he never wanted Fuji to find out who his employer was, and that entailed some very un-Tezuka-like actions. If Fuji knew who he was, there would be emotions involved; Tezuka didn’t want emotions involved. Thus, he had resolved to do his level best at convincing his ‘slave’ that he wasn’t himself.

“I have no master,” Fuji riposted bluntly.

Time to be unlike himself then. The tycoon removed his glasses and set them down on the coffee table, rose from where he was seated on an armchair and crossed swiftly over to the other’s side to shove him roughly against the headboard. “Here you do,” he informed his former teammate calmly.

“I won’t...” the other began, only to be sharply cut off by demanding lips pressed hard and brusquely against his own as a warm weight settled over his body. Fuji tasted just as he always did, dark and sweet, yet there was something else to it now, something that had never been there before, a tang of something bitter. Seigaku’s former tensai’s hands were pressing hard against his chest, trying in vain to push him away.

 _No!_ his thoughts screamed. _No, please, not now... Not now..._ Not when he was like this, when the memories alone were too painful to bear, not when he had just seen his beloved dead brother’s smiling face in dreamland, a bitter reminder of what he had lost. _No..._ He didn’t want to be reminded of his fate now; just let him wallow in the misery he already had before he had to deal with the present. “No,” he tried to whisper pleadingly, but the harsh lips continued to move against his own, hands already forcefully roaming his bare skin. Tears were welling up in his eyes before he even realized it and he couldn’t hold them back. _Please..._

As if sensing his current disposition, his captor pulled away. Invasive hands slid out from under his shirt to reach up to caress his cheek gently. As one hand continued to chafe soft skin, the other slid under him to wrap him in an embrace. Tezuka pressed his cheek to the other’s, the one he wasn’t stroking, and inhaled the scent of honey-brown hair. It smelled of the shampoo in the bathroom along with the hair-gloss Izumi always used. He could sense the other’s sorrow and somehow, he didn’t want to force the former tennis prodigy now. He moved his thumb to trace now-swollen lips. Fuji was biting on his lower lip in an effort to fight back tears that were beginning to spill. The former tennis club captain sighed inwardly. He hadn’t really intended to cause the other pain, and yet, he couldn’t be too nice because it would arouse suspicion.

“I’m your master until I say otherwise. Is that understood?” he murmured the question close to the older man’s ear in the most triumphant tone he could manage, his hand sliding up to run through soft honey-brown locks.

Fuji stifled a sniffle rather unsuccessfully as he continued trying not to cry, but remained silent otherwise.

His hand fisted painfully in those silken tresses and his captive gasped slightly in pain. “Is that understood?” he repeated more slowly, threateningly.

“Yes,” came the quiet almost inaudible whisper.

“Hm?”

“Yes!” the other cried out brokenly.

He released his hold on the former prodigy’s hair. “That’s better.” He placed a soft kiss on the other’s cheek as he pulled away. “I won’t hurt you if you behave yourself,” he promised calmly. If it was possible, he didn’t really want to hurt Fuji at all, but... well, he wasn’t Tezuka as far as the slave was concerned. He stood then and turned to leave, then paused. “When breakfast is ready, Izumi will untie you, and the blindfold will be removed for the day. Do what you wish in this room, but you are not to leave it. Meals will be brought to you, and any other needs will be considered. Every night, before bed, you will be bound and blindfolded again,” he notified Fuji dispassionately.

The only reply he received was a slight nod and with that, he fetched his glasses, put them back on, and exited the room, locking the door behind him, not wanting to see the other’s distress. Inside, even as the door clicked shut behind the shipping magnate, Fuji finally allowed a choked sob to escape and turned to bury his face in the pillow, bound hands gripping the cushion tightly as sobs racked his slender body. He hated life sometimes; if only his father hadn’t stepped on that Yakuza boss’s toes, if only the last twelve years had never happened.

Yuuta would still be alive, neesan would still drive by to give him a lift occasionally, and kaasan would still be waiting for him at home with dinner. He would perhaps have studied classical literature and would now probably be working as maybe a professional photographer or a teacher of literature or even as a tennis coach in a junior high school. Yet, he had already had just as many years to wallow in the past, to wish that things had never happened, to ponder the never-ending list of ‘if-only’s that it brought. It was too late now to change history, but he couldn’t help how much it hurt in moments like these. If only they had killed him too; perhaps he’d have reincarnated to a better life. If only...

~*~*~*~

Fuji blinked and turned a baleful look away from the sunlight filtering in through the bedroom window as the blindfold and blinker were removed. He had already been untied and he found Izumi gazing down at him with a wide grin spread on his face. The smell of bacon pervaded the air; a tray was on the coffee table. Apparently, today was American breakfast day. He stretched his limbs and gingerly climbed out of bed before making his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth in silence. He looked at the mirror as he did so; at least his eyes weren’t bloodshot. Apart from the slight moisture, there was no sign to show that he had cried. Rinsing his mouth and face, he stepped out of the bathroom, stopping to dry his face on a towel.

“Yo! Breakfast is served,” Izumi chirped like it was the best day in the world from where he had draped himself on an armchair.

Well, it wasn’t, and Fuji was in entirely no mood for his utter cheerfulness. He turned completely open cerulean blue eyes on the blonde. “I know that,” he replied, sliding the dangerous edge he had long ago mastered into his voice as he made his way to the coffee table. _Please, please, shut up._

“Well, we’ve got bacon and eggs with a salad, two slices of toast, and a glass each of milk and orange juice today. Hope you like American breakfast.” It didn’t work. The half-American was dressed in another tailor-made suit, navy blue this time with a matching blue and gold silk tie.

“Does it matter?” he questioned bluntly, sitting on the other armchair and beginning on the salad.

“Well, actually, you’re allowed to make requests; they’ll be considered and granted as long as they are within reason,” the other informed him.

 _God, does his cheerfulness have no end?_ Fuji wondered, seeing something he had failed to notice the night before; there was a television set in an alcove in the wall with its remote control atop it. Well, then, at least he could watch TV.

“So apparently, according to Katsu, he hasn’t done you yet.”

The slave remained silent; it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss at the moment.

“Said you weren’t in the mood,” the half-American continued. “Don’t see why he cares though.”

The niko smile slid into place, a mask to hide his irritation, as he resolved to ignore the talkative blonde. The former tensai went on eating silently.

“See, I told you he’s nice. I would have gone ahead and slammed you anyway.”

“Would you please just shut up and let me eat in peace?” Fuji asked, finally at the limits of his patience.

“Nope. Even Katsu-chan has problems getting me to be quiet,” came the merry reply.

The only thing keeping him from strangling the other was the knowledge that he wasn’t likely to succeed. He simply maintained the niko smile and carried on eating wordlessly.

“See, he’s nice. He doesn’t have to care whether or not you’re in the mood for sex, whether or not you like the food, whether or not you’re lonely in here...”

“He cares whether or not I’m **lonely** in here?” the former prodigy repeated incredulously.

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Are you sure he didn’t just make you come here so he could have some peace?”

“Well, that would be very much like him, yes,” the blonde admitted. “But then I don’t talk as much with him as I do here.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’ll just give me more work and cut my salary if don’t finish it in time,” Izumi replied with a grimace. “The slave driver,” he lamented.

 _Slave driver, huh? Just like Tezuka._ Fuji thought about his former captain and wondered where the other was presently, not knowing that he was sitting right in said former captain’s house. He imagined the other barking out orders to his worker in some company in that same position he took when giving out punishment laps and chuckled slightly.

“Anyway, yeah, he cares. He doesn’t have to, you know? But he does anyway. I swear he likes you.”

“Well, of course he does. What do you think I’m here for?” came the riposte.

“Not that way. I mean like as in really like.”

Fuji snorted derisively in as dignified a manner as he could manage. “Yeah, we’ll just see how long he keeps me. I don’t plan on being a slave for very long anyway.”

“I don’t think you’ll be one for very long.”

“Good. He’s going to use me, get bored of me, and then throw me away for another toy.” Sad fact of life, but that was how it went ninety-five percent of the time.

“Te... He’s not like that!!” Izumi protested defensively. “Katsu doesn’t do that to people!”

“Oh, yeah? Tell me how many bed-slaves he’s had before then?!” the former tennis genius challenged loudly, rising.

“One!! Just you! You’re just so goddamn fucking special!” the other screamed back at him, standing as well to meet his gaze evenly. “I’ve seen thousands of people who’d like to be in your shoes, both male and female, some more beautiful than you, but he’s never had any interest in them!! I swear the guy gets laid as many times in three months as I do in a week. He doesn’t do these things!! I’ve known him for ten years and he’s had what? Three lovers? All six-month affairs because he wasn’t even keen on having one to begin with! It’s not your body he wants!! There’s something else about you that’s so fucking appealing to him, and you don’t even care how lucky you are!!”

“Lucky?! I’m a slave, trapped in some stranger’s house, doomed to be physically used all my life and you think I’m lucky?! Why don’t you try being that way?!!” he yelled back.

“I wouldn’t mind!! Especially if it’s him! Better be here than in the streets, better be a slave to one than do it for the money for a different bastard every night!! Any other man in his position would have screwed you until you fell unconscious or he was totally spent, whichever comes first, last night itself without caring whether or not you were tired or starving or dehydrated!!”

“I won’t be his slave!!”

At that, the half-American grabbed him brusquely with more strength than Fuji would have guessed that slender form contained and shoved him hard into the bed. “Well, why don’t you be mine then?!!” he shouted angrily, straddling the former tensai. “Hm?” He had already begun tearing the slave’s clothes open, not caring that the pajamas belonged to him and the buttons were popping off with his rough actions.

“Stop it!!” Fuji struggled valiantly against the taller man, but it made no difference; the blonde was heavy and far stronger than he had anticipated.

“Since you don’t appreciate his kindness, let me give you a taste of what anyone else would do, hm?!!” He pressed the other into the bed and claimed the other’s mouth harshly.

The tensai pushed hard against his captor’s shoulders even as a tongue violently explored his mouth. When that failed, he bit down hard on the tongue in his mouth. Izumi withdrew before he could bite the tongue off, killing him in the process, and slapped him hard on the face before spitting the blood in his face. The half-American swooped down then, setting teeth to where his neck and left shoulder joined, and bit him hard till it drew blood even as he screeched in pain. Slender hips ground violently against his own, and against his will, he found his body responding.

“No!! Stop it!! I...” he cried out brokenly at the top of his voice to no avail.

“Despicable ungrateful wretch, you don’t even know how good you have it, huh?” the other said spitefully against his skin as a wet mouth moved over his body, teeth biting and scraping along the way.

“Please!! Stop!” He tried to shove the blonde away again in vain.

That’s when a loud beeping interrupted them. “Shit,” Izumi cursed as he stopped to reach into his jacket pocket for the special walkie-talkie. Seeing who it was, he swore again before flipping it open.

“What the hell are you doing in there?! Get out! Now!” Tezuka’s furious voice barked over the device.

He flipped it back shut. “You have no idea how fucking special you are,” he told the slave wrathfully as he climbed off and straightened his clothes before exiting the room and locking the door behind him only to come face to face with a silently fuming Tezuka. The impassive exterior didn’t fool Izumi one bit; he knew his best friend was pissed.

“What did you do to him?” the mogul demanded quietly, in silent fury. “And don’t even deny it.”

“He wasn’t happy being your slave, so I decided to let him try serving me,” the blonde riposted unrepentantly, insolently.

Tezuka stepped closer menacingly. “Don’t. Touch. Him.” He bit out each word softly, dangerously, livid at what his best friend had done.

“What’s your fucking problem, huh?!” Izumi yelled at him suddenly. “He’s just a bloody slave, goddammit!! What makes him so goddamn special?!” His assistant stepped back, visibly upset. “He doesn’t care, Katsu; he doesn’t care.” Tears brimmed in hazel eyes. “He’s just a slave...” he whispered bitterly as turned and began running away. “Just a fucking slave...”

The tycoon made to stop the other, but halted. The door to the room down the hall slammed shut loudly behind his half-American right-hand-man. “Because he isn’t, Izumi,” he whispered to the air sadly. “He’s a lot more than just another slave.” With that, Tezuka turned and left for work, not wanting to see his best friend. He had known, of course; he had always known what Izumi really wanted, but he had no intention of going any further than this. The blonde had always been and would always be a great friend and assistant, had always been trustworthy and reliable. He would never be able to give the younger man what he wanted because he didn’t want the same. He would never want the same.

~*~*~*~

The water was hot; he could see the steam rising from where it hit his already-reddened skin. Yet, Fuji barely felt it as he chafed numbly at pink skin, trying absently to remove anything Izumi might have left on him. He didn’t really see why it mattered though; he’d had it tons worse before, and yet, it still felt better to cleanse himself this way. He was still considering the other’s words... _One! Just you! You’re just so goddamn fucking special!!_ Really? Just him alone? That was interesting, if truth be told; lots of rich people had personal pseudo-harems or at least a long history of bed-slaves and the like. If he was the only one... Well, it was just plain strange. Especially since people were evidently queuing up in lines for the job anyway.

Besides that, it was true that the Katsu guy had been strangely nice to him thus far; definitely nicer than anyone else. However, if it wasn’t his body the man wanted, well, what did he want? What did he have that was of value to the guy anyway? The genius’s mental powers weren’t doing him any good here. He washed the blood and spit away with a soapy sponge and shampooed his hair again. _Perhaps I should take a cold shower; maybe I’ll wake up from this nightmare,_ he thought pensively, turning the taps to change the water temperature. The sudden cold was like a shock to his system after the intense heat of a moment ago, but he was still standing in the shower rinsing the soap off his body. Obviously, he wasn’t dreaming.

When he finally felt clean enough, he stepped out of the shower and dried himself again before blow-drying his hair again. It felt good to shower, to be able to do that whenever one liked. It was something people normally took for granted, something he used to take for granted himself, yet after everything he had been through, it was one of those little luxuries of life he had learned to treasure. He gave the torn pajamas a passing glance and decided that he could still wear the pants. Perhaps a dry robe would suffice for a top. He took a robe from the cupboard and put it on before stepping out. Even as he reached for the pants, the main door of the room opened to reveal a maid in a uniform similar to the one he had seen the day before. She carried three large paper bags in her hands, her chestnut-coloured hair pulled back into a ponytail with a big clip. Stepping in, she inclined her head politely and handed him the bags.

“Te... The master asks for me to bring you these,” she told him.

“T-Thank you,” he replied, surprised. _What...?_ He looked into the bags. Clothes. His eyes widened. “For me?” he whispered.

“Yes, sir. Lunch will be served shortly. Excuse me.” With that, she bowed slightly and exited the room.

Still stunned, Fuji walked over to the bed and emptied out the contents of the bags onto the bed. The garments all still had labels and tags on them; they were brand new and even at first glance, one could tell that they were of fine quality. Some slacks, two pairs of jeans, several polo shirts, a few T-shirts, some shorts, several sets of pajamas, quite a few sweaters, a few pairs of sweatpants, two dress-shirts... There were even two boxes of briefs and about five pairs of boxers. He simply stared at the apparel on the bed before him. There were several blue outfits and many beige ones. The boxers and briefs were the same kind he used to wear back when he could afford them.

_He doesn’t have to care..._

_No,_ Fuji agreed. _But why does he?_

And could it be a coincidence that they all seemed to be the things he used to like?

The tensai bit on the plastic string of the tag and broke it before trying on a beige sweater. It fit him perfectly. He recalled Izumi and the measuring tape the night before and figured that the blonde had probably reported his measurements to Katsu. Well, they all appeared to fit and suit him well. The colours brought out the highlights in his hair and either matched or contrasted well with his fair skin; they would have brought out the light in his eyes too, had there been any left in them.

He then opened the box of briefs and put on one before removing the tag on a pair of dark gray sweatpants and wearing it. At length, he stood in front of the mirror. It had been an eternity since he had been so completely and comfortably dressed. He sighed. Perhaps Izumi was right and being here was better than the streets. Maybe he would give this Katsu guy a chance after all. At least, he was taken care of rather well here. He made his way back over to the bed and flopped back gracelessly on it.

 _One night,_ he decided. _Just today, tonight._ He slid his eyes shut as he remembered Izumi’s words. _Better be a slave to one than to do it for the money for a different bastard every night, huh? Perhaps you’re right after all, Izumi-san. Perhaps you’re right..._

~*~*~*~

The door opened and clicked shut. Fuji turned in the general direction of the entrance, since he couldn’t see where it was, blindfolded and bound as he was. Whoever had just come in had done so through the door on his right, next to the bed.

“I heard you behaved,” came the silken voice from this morning. Katsu.

He didn’t answer, in view of the fact that the statement didn’t seem to require one. It did seem to suggest, however, that there was a punishment for not behaving. Well, technically, he had spent the day watching American cable TV; some of the sitcoms were pretty funny and interesting and the sports channel was screening tennis for the better part of the day. Apparently Echizen and Atobe were doing very well in the professional scene and the tennis world was currently hailing Echizen as the best Asian player ever, the brat evidently having finally surpassed his father’s skills.

He soon changed the channel, however. He couldn’t bear to watch it, knowing it had once been the dream of two now dead and gone brothers. He wasn’t the tensai of Seigaku anymore; this person never was. A part of that boy had died with his brother; the rest had perished with everything that followed. The channel he flipped to had been screening a show called Malcolm In The Middle. Five minutes into the programme, he switched channels again. The next one he watched was the National Geographic Channel and that’s where he stayed for a full hour; at least the documentary on Arctic foxes was interesting; it didn’t bring back painful memories.

After that, he had sat through Ally McBeal and Alias, before watching something from back home as he ate his dinner; the channel he flipped to had been airing an English-subtitled version of Naruto, a rather amusing anime. He didn’t really know anything about the story save that it was about this blonde ninja brat and his friends in a village called Konohagure, since the episode he watched was somewhere in the middle of the series and the excerpt from the last episode was nowhere near helpful for someone as hopelessly lost as he was.

“Izumi has been dealt with,” Tezuka saw fit to inform his captive, drawing the former tennis prodigy from his reverie, as he tossed the blanket to the side.

 _Dealt with?_ Fuji echoed mentally. _For me?_ He was flabbergasted; why would a man in his right mind punish his lover or best friend or right-hand-man, whichever category Izumi fell in, for trying to discipline a common sex-slave? It didn’t make sense; none of it made sense. “Why?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Tezuka blinked at the beauty lying on the bed as he removed his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his white dress shirt; Fuji should have been happy that his rapist-to-be was out of the picture, not curious as to **why** he was out of it. Well, he couldn’t say it was because he cared, right? “No one is allowed to touch you,” he said at last, removing his glasses to set it, with the tie, atop the chest of drawers. Possessiveness wasn’t so extraordinary in the given situation, after all.

“No one but you, you mean,” the tensai returned slowly.

“Of course,” he replied. In any case, the other was buying it and that was enough. He slid his hand under his former teammate’s beige sweater and traced circles on a smooth abdomen; he still recalled from their various encounters in the past that it was something Fuji enjoyed.

“Nn...” The slave squirmed under his touch, but the pleasure was obvious on his features. If anything, this guy just knew how to touch him; it felt good even if he refused to admit it to himself. He didn’t want to be used this way, but...

Soft lips brushed lightly against his temple and trailed kisses down as a weight settled on the bed beside him and the hand under his shirt moved to toy with a nipple. There was a bit of suction as those warm, wet lips left a hickey on the right side of his throat, a mark of possession, Fuji realized. Then a warm weight settled upon him; the man wasn’t even resting his full weight on him, he noted. Another hand slipped beneath his clothes, this one moving under the gray sweatpants he was wearing to lightly tease the flesh of his length through the briefs. He gasped as his body responded to the inquiring touch. _No, it shouldn’t feel so right,_ he thought, even as his breathing grew ragged and the skilled hands on his member aroused him further.

He squirmed again and Tezuka simply smiled slightly before capturing parted primrose lips in a gentle kiss. He slid in his tongue to taste the other; it tasted vaguely of the vongole the tensai had for dinner. Fuji registered the taste of some herb gravy they used on steak as he kissed his captor back, already longing to be freed from his pants. As if reading his mind, the other yanked down the sweatpants before very slowly tugging down the briefs. He moaned into the kiss. _It felt too good, too right; it shouldn’t,_ he thought. _It shouldn’t, but..._ Tezuka finally pulled the briefs off and the former tennis prodigy groaned as his throbbing member was freed. The businessman hid a smirk; for all the talk about not wanting to be used... Well, obviously, the slave’s body didn’t quite agree with him.

He moved down then, hands pushing the sweater up, to suck on a ruddy nub before trailing wet kisses down delicate satin skin, tasting as he went. He had missed his former bedmate’s taste, the feel of this soft skin against his own, on his lips. He could hear the other hyperventilating as the body beneath him arched into the contact. Deliberately passing over where his touch was most wanted, he kissed and left a hickey on Fuji’s left inner thigh. By now, he had also moved to a more comfortable position, kneeling at the foot of the bed. Fuji felt his captor’s teeth scrape his sac lightly and moaned, writhing slightly. He knew his member was leaking by now, could feel the wetness.

“Please,” he whispered unwillingly and was rewarded as a warm mouth closed over his heated shaft.

Tezuka took his former teammate’s length in his mouth and sucked hard on it, eliciting a soft cry of desire from the other’s lips. The taste of precum was metallic in his mouth, somewhat salty, with even a little tang of seafood to it, which he attributed to the pasta. He swirled his tongue around the hard shaft as he continued to suck on it before nibbling on the tip. He reached into his pocket for the lube he had brought along and coated the first three fingers of his left hand with it before reaching under the trembling form before him to press one digit into the tight ring of muscle. Fuji’s back arched as his slid his fingers in and out and the tensai made a soft sound of pain before his mouth once again took hold of the slave’s attention.

Fuji frankly decided that he was going to cum and he wasn’t even going to try holding back. His captor was so good at giving pleasure and he badly needed the release. He was close; he could feel that stirring deep within, could feel his muscles fluttering in response to the stimulation. Unfortunately for him, Tezuka knew his body almost as well as he did himself. The tycoon knew his captive was close and that the slave wasn’t feeling inclined to wait for him.

Too bad he just happened to have something handy. One of his previous lovers had seriously enjoyed BDSM activity and after much coaxing, he had agreed to give it a shot just once. It had been quite interesting if truth be told, and that one time had lead to several more, during which he had learned how to be a pretty decent dom. He brought his bedmate right up to the edge with more sucking and nibbling before slipping it on. Doing this had one other advantage: it cleared suspicion; thus far, he been far too nice.

“No!” Fuji gasped hoarsely despite himself as he felt something preventing his release. He recognised the tight constricting feel of cold metal; it had been used on him before and he had nothing but bad memories of it. He hated cock-rings with a vengeance. **They** had used it on him every time, every single goddamned time they fucked him into oblivion, tormented him as one after another they forced themselves on him before leaving him torn, bleeding and unconscious on the ground to die if Death was ready for him.

“Not before me,” informed a silken voice, dragging him out of his reverie, as smooth bare skin rubbed against his own.

Tezuka had quickly removed his clothes before lifting the lighter man and sliding under to press his own throbbing member against the other’s split. Fuji was more than a full head shorter than him and that made it possible to do so with the tensai’s head resting on his chest. The slave’s hands were tied together, but the string connecting it to the bed was long enough to allow him to place them on his chest. Wrapping one leg around each of the other’s, he reached around to wrap his hand around the throbbing, leaking shaft and began to stroke it hard.

Fuji felt the slightly callused hand move up and down, up and down; it was driving him crazy with the need to come, but he couldn’t because of that hated ring. Whoever his captor was, he sure knew where to press, where to brush lightly, how to make him helpless and desperate. His hips bucked in response, causing him to grind back against the other as an arm wrapped around his abdomen and another hand snaked up to caress his side before those searching fingers found another nipple and began to rub it. He whimpered helplessly in passion and need, arching his back and digging his head back into the other’s chest.

The way Fuji moved against him was infinitely arousing, and Tezuka found himself leaking before he had even fully registered the sensation; he needed the tensai now. Turning the beauty over onto his side, he grabbed the tube of lubricant from where he had left it on the bedside table and smeared some on his own member before pressing into his captive’s entrance. Even as he pushed past the tight ring of muscle, he continued to fondle the older man’s heated shaft, feeling precum leak onto his fingers in a steady trickle.

The former tennis prodigy gave a low growl of pain as he pushed the rest of the way in and the magnate kissed his former teammate on the neck, switching hands to trace parted primrose lips before slipping the finger into the warm mouth to let the tensai taste his own seed. Fuji sucked on it and he added a second finger as his captive swirled his tongue around the digits in a way that was simply erotic. The lovely slave made a sound of impatience and Seigaku’s former captain responded by steadying him with one leg before withdrawing most of the way and thrusting into the constricting heat again at the angle that he remembered used to give his partner the most pleasure.

Fuji cried out as his partner drove into him again and again, losing himself in the throes of passion. He needed to come so desperately and the ring was all that was in the way. He didn’t know how his captor managed to give him so much pleasure all at one go. He moved back, matching the other’s rhythm, making the mogul drive deeper into him even as the former tennis club captain trailed kisses down the back of his neck before breaking off to continue under the sweater in a warm, wet trail down his spine. He **needed** to cum now; there wasn’t much more of this he could take.

“Please,” he whispered hoarsely, reluctantly.

Taking the opportunity to further solidify the image of a slave-master relationship, he pressed in a soft murmur against the other’s ear, “Please what?”

“Take it off,” came the moaned reply as he continued to thrust into the other, still stroking the other’s leaking member intensely.

“Take it off...?” he prompted, feeling himself coming close as well.

“Please,” his captive cried out desperately, voice cracking.

"Please...?” Tezuka prompted again. He wasn’t about to let the other cum until the slave said what he was supposed to say; he could hold back a pretty long time. He pressed down on the tip of the hot leaking member and its owner cried out loudly in ardent need.

It finally clicked in Fuji’s mind what his captor wanted to hear: the word he hated most. He despised the word because saying it meant submission and he refused to do so, but... Another thrust, another stroke. The other pressed down on the slit at the tip of his length again. He couldn’t take any more. “Master!!” he cried out brokenly.

Finally. Tezuka thrust in again, feeling himself going over the edge and withdrew one last time to drive in a final time as he removed the ring with his hand. Fuji came harder than he ever remembered coming in his life, a loud cry of passion on his lips. He was grateful for the release and yet, the submission it had required brought him only despair. He lay still as his partner withdrew from him, feeling used and broken. He had wanted it, enjoyed it, and that was the what made him feel the worst.

Tezuka sensed the sudden despondency in his slave, but remained silent. It was what he had wanted after all. He simply wrapped his arms around the limp form; the slave didn’t fight it. The businessman buried his face in chin-length honey-brown locks, inhaling the sweet scent of shampoo tinged with sweat. Reaching over to pull the blanket over them both, he smoothened out Fuji’s sweater and drew the tensai close into a tight embrace. He wanted to comfort the other, but he couldn’t appear to care that much; he wasn’t even supposed to know his captive personally.

“I... Izumi-san said... that... you were nice,” Fuji said at length, breaking the silence, his voice broken, tired, cracking, and choked. He sounded like he was trying very, very hard not to cry.

“He would say that,” the tycoon replied simply, beginning to trace circles on the other’s abdomen again.

“So I’m asking,” the former tennis prodigy persisted in the same dejected tone, ignoring his input. “Please... Please, let me go.”

He had expected that. “What are you going to do if I do?” he enquired.

“I... I don’t know. I’ll never come back, I promise, never tell anyone that I used to be here. I don’t... I don’t want to keep being a slave.”

Tezuka failed to see where the lovely former genius had a choice in the matter and told him so. “Furthermore,” he continued. “If you’re caught walking around without any legal documentation, you’ll be arrested and deported back to Japan, where I assume you don’t possess any legal documentation either, and you’ll be back at square one. Tell me, what did you get on that ship for?”

Fuji thought about what happened the night before the voyage and decided to be truthful. “I was running away from some people.”

“Going back to Japan means going back to them,” the magnate reminded his lovely bed-slave.

“I know... I know, but please, I’ll figure things out on my own. So please, just release me,” the former tennis prodigy pleaded as he choked back a sob.

Tezuka felt bad for Fuji, but no, he didn’t want his former teammate deported back to Japan where he’d just end up back in the slums, doing all kinds of filthy duties for a living. “What would you give?” he asked at last. “To be free, what would you give?”

“Anything,” the other answered readily.

“Anything I want?” he clarified.

“From me, yes. Anything I can give you, so please... Please,” he begged desperately.

That was most unfortunate, really. There was only one thing Tezuka really wanted from his former bedmate, which wasn’t even his body or anything else the other had, if there was anything else at all. “I... I want you to stay,” he said at length. Yes, it was Fuji’s company he wanted, more than anything else. He stood, covering the other snugly with the blanket before turning to gather his clothes on the floor.

At that point, Fuji knew that the discussion was over. His captor would never free him. What had he been expecting anyway? Why would someone give up something they had when they could use it at will? Everyone was the same in the end; everyone used what they could for their own enjoyment. What became of the toys later was of little consequence; no one sought to know; no one sought to care. The door clicked shut behind him as Tezuka returned to his own room, leaving the tensai alone with his tears.


	3. Darling Discipline

“Oi, buchou, I don’t know what you see in the tea leaves, but don’t leave me alone to the monkey king.”

Tezuka looked up from the cup of koucha he had been gazing into to face Echizen Ryoma, a former buchou of Seigaku Tennis Club himself and currently, the professional tennis world number one to whom he’d, apparently, always be ‘buchou’. He had grown his hair a tad bit longer than the cute twelve-year-old’s style, but otherwise, there was little change to his appearance. Next to him, running his fingers flamboyantly through his blue-gray hair, sat world number three Atobe Keigo, the diva trying as usual to attract the greatest amount of possible attention to himself. His appearance hadn’t changed much either; evidently, this hairstyle was the most suited to bring out his —cough— natural beauty, and he wouldn’t settle for anything less than the maximum display of his splendour.

They were in a small café near his office, the two professional players having come to the United States for the US Open and bumped into each other on their way to visit him. He was certainly glad that he was still significant enough to them both to be owed a special visit every time they came to America together, but he’d much rather not have them both at the same time, an occasion which was thankfully highly unusual. Normally, he wouldn’t have minded the former Hyoutei captain’s attention-grabbing antics, because normally, he wasn’t around to tolerate it and its consequences, but today...

“Oh, look! It’s Keigo Atobe! May I please have your autograph?” a passing fangirl cried, running over to their table with her friends at her heels.

“Oh, God, Ryoma Echizen is here too! Could you please sign this for me?” another one squealed, holding out a notebook with said player’s picture on it.

“Oh, really? Where?”

“They’re really here!!”

“Autographs please!”

“I’m your greatest fan!”

“Atobe-sama!!”

“Ryoma’s so cool!!”

Seigaku’s former o-chibi gave his former captain a pained look as he took the stack of things to be autographed. The former... — _No,_ Tezuka amended, _Echizen was still a brat_ — obviously wasn’t enjoying fame and glamour as much as the histrionic narcissist beside him. Tezuka tuned the squealing fans out and stared out the window by their booth at the street and the people walking by, lost in thought. They had chosen this corner booth to avoid exactly what was going on presently; of course, the magnate hadn’t expected it to work with Atobe’s outrageous attempts at attracting attention, but at least the fans could only assault them from one side.

He was worried about Fuji, really, a fact he had shared with no one. The way he had been that night was much unlike the Fuji Shuusuke he remembered; the former tensai had seemed so frail, so... spineless and touch-starved. The tennis prodigy he remembered had been strong and free-spirited, a cheerful nonchalant tease who would never bow or conform to anyone, a sadistic dangerous cyclone who could turn even the most structured, well-organized life upside down and whom everyone knew better than to mess with.

Right now, Fuji seemed so... weak, desperate almost... like someone who’d been broken too many times before. A glass, if broken once, could still be used if glued back properly, but if it was cracked in a thousand places, even gluing it back would not help much. Of course, there was the fact that he was most probably making it worse, which was why he hadn’t gone to Fuji in the past three days. The more a broken object was used, the more damaged it would become.

A natural solution would then be to throw the shattered glass away, but if say, it happened to have much sentimental value, then one would no doubt keep even the tiniest shards in a box somewhere despite using a different glass. In his case, he didn’t really want another glass. There were other ways to enjoy one’s favourite drink, and the new glass might never be as good as the shattered one. Better to have one premium glass than to have twenty cheap and substandard ones anyway.

“Buchou,” Echizen’s quiet voice brought him out of his reverie as the fans began to slowly drift away, having already gotten the wanted autographs. “I just came from Japan.”

He merely looked up to show that he was listening, allowing silence to prompt elaboration.

“You know the house Fuji-senpai used to stay in?”

He simply made a noncommittal grunt in response.

“It’s been burnt down.” The younger man paused. “Maybe they moved out. I’m pretty sure it’s the right one. A pity they had to burn it down; it was a nice house.”

“Speaking of the Fujis and Japan,” the other professional put in smoothly as he laced his fingers in front of him. “I was checking out ceilings downtown before I came to the US, and I believe I caught sight of your former teammate’s sister working the area.” He took a swig of his cocktail before continuing. “Can’t be sure though; only got a brief glance. Can’t imagine how she’d survive there at her age anyway; she’s what? Thirty-seven?” He leaned back in the soft seat. “Most of the others are much younger and prettier.”

Well, that might explain how Fuji landed up in an underground slavery ring. Assuming that all that he had just heard was true, then trouble with the Japanese underworld was all he could surmise. But that left several large blanks. What had become of Fuji Yuuta? The Fuji he knew would unquestionably die before leaving his brother alone, especially in such dire situations. And then there were his parents; surely he wouldn’t be a slave if they had any choice in the matter. Then perhaps they were dead, but if Yumiko was in prostitution and Shuusuke was with him, then where on earth was Yuuta? Could he too be dead?

“Atobe Keigo!! Just what the hell do you think you’re doing here?!” a loud female voice suddenly jerked the shipping tycoon roughly out of his thoughts.

Tezuka turned just in time to see a look of utter horror pass over the diva’s face as a rather pretty, busty half-German lady with shoulder-length flaming-red hair stormed into the café with a very stern cross look on her face. She was decked entirely in bright red leather, from the tank top laced closed in the front right down to the metal-heeled stiletto boots on her feet. She walked directly over to their table to raise a perfectly oiled boot to rest on the diva’s leather seat, leaning far enough forward for both Tezuka and Echizen to see her black bra from their vantage point, what with the tank top’s sinking cleavage.

“You’re supposed to be training, my dear sir,” she informed the tennis professional calmly with a dangerous edge to her silken voice, a low poisoned honey tone.

“I’m visiting an old friend here, Linda,” Atobe said in the calmest voice he could manage as he looked pointedly at Tezuka, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “And I’m sure I can skip training for the day.”

“Wie kannst du so drauf hoffen, ihn zu übertreffen?!” she demanded in her native tongue with a pointed look to Echizen. (How can you hope to surpass him like this?!)

Echizen simply pulled his red and silver cap down with a quiet ‘Linda-san’ as an acknowledgement. She twiddled slender fingers with perfectly manicured nails painted bright red in response before turning her attention back on Atobe.

“Musst du das hier sagen?” he muttered the question. “Vor allen meinen Fans und sogar ihnen?” He looked meaningfully at his companions, hoping against hope that Tezuka, at least, would help him out, since Echizen understood no German and even if he did, wasn’t likely to be feeling inclined to help anyway. In retrospect, it was probably best he didn’t. That was the only reason Linda was speaking the language anyway. (Must you say that here? In front of all my fans and even them?)

She rolled her eyes. “Ja, ja, zerstör nicht deine Popularität. Du kommst sofort mit mir mit,” she ordered. (Yes, yes, don’t destroy your popularity. You’re coming with me right now.)

“Aber...” the diva began to protest. (But...)

“Ich habe nie gesagt, dass ich dir eine Wahl gebe,” she cut in as she rather unceremoniously practically dragged the former captain off by the arm. (I never said that I’m giving you a choice.)

“He~? Renshuu wo tanoshimemasu ne, saruoo,” Echizen called with his typical arrogant brattiness, which was annoying these days without a twelve-year-old’s cuteness to balance it out. (Have fun training, monkey king.)

He didn’t get a reply while Tezuka blinked in the direction of the door as the pair exited and gave his remaining companion a questioning look. Silence was always the best way to prompt elaboration or explanation.

If Echizen recognised the tactic, he chose to ignore it. “Kayoko Linda, monkey king’s coach and manager. Half-German kick-boxer from the leather community and more tyrannical than Ryuzaki-sensei, you, and all the other coaches and captains put together.” The boyish tennis professional looked up with his trademark cocky smirk. “The monkey king’s finally found a woman he couldn’t handle.”

“Aa.” It was hard to imagine a reason why Atobe hadn’t gotten her fired yet.

“She’s richer than he is and doesn’t need the cash. She’s also a damned good coach, apparently.” The other took a long drink from the bottle of Mirinda grape before him, which was the closest thing he could get to Ponta around here. “Oh, and contrary to popular belief, she’s a pretty nice lady until she sees her charge slacking off. Then...” The other former captain of Seigaku drew a semicircle with his forefinger to indicate a hundred-and-eighty-degree-turn.

The mogul simply nodded once and turned back to the cup of tea in front of him; it was getting cold. He grabbed the cup and downed the entirety of its contents before ordering another cup.

“You’re brooding, buchou.”

“Hm?” Tezuka turned back to his successor as a waitress brought his tea and set it down before him with a pleasant smile.

 _Too bad she’s not quite pretty enough,_ Echizen thought as he repeated his semi-accusation. “You’re brooding.”

So he noticed. “Thinking,” the businessman corrected quietly in his silken baritone.

“Whatever. What about?” he enquired.

“Business,” the tycoon lied.

“What about it?” the bratty twenty-seven-year-old pressed.

“Weather’s been bad at sea lately.” At least this part was true.

“Hm.” A long silence fell between them; they had always been the quietest of the Regulars anyway. “Heard from any more of the others?” he asked suddenly.

“No,” he lied again. The only extra ‘other’ he had heard from was Fuji, but he wasn’t about to tell his companion that he’d taken the team’s tensai in as a sex-slave. There was always the occasional brief e-mail from Inui and whenever he visited his parents in Japan, he would occasionally pay Kawamura’s sushi restaurant a visit —the man with the dual personality problem was married to a nice enough lady whose name Tezuka couldn’t recall and had taken over his father’s business—, but that was about it.

“Hm,” came the reply as the tennis professional took another gulp of Mirinda.

Tezuka took that to mean that he hadn’t either and sipped at his tea. The rest of their time together was spent in relative silence.

~*~*~*~

It had been three days since the last time Katsu had come visiting. Fuji Shuusuke, being nevertheless a Fuji, had not wasted his time. He had made several observations that might have done a certain data collector proud had he been around to comment. First off, the guard outside his bedroom door changed several times daily. Those times were 6 am, 12 pm, 6 pm, and 12 am. The probability that the next guard on shift would be late by anything more than a minute was approximately (he couldn’t quite say exactly, since there wasn’t a calculator in the room he could use to calculate the precise percentage) 0.05%. That, unfortunately, made escaping via the door impossible. Even if he was lucky and the guard at the door missed him, he would most likely be caught while trying to find his way out of the large house. Besides that, he doubted the people here were going to let him walk right through the front gate. One option down. He counted off the point on his fingers as he sat, perpending his escape, on the bed.

Secondly, there didn’t seem to be a security camera in the room. Thus, no one would see him preparing to flee. Thirdly, the likelihood that someone would enter the room outside of mealtimes, which were breakfast at 8 am, lunch at 12:30 pm, a snack at 4 pm, and dinner at 8 pm, was about 0.001%. Therefore, it was generally safe to say that he wouldn’t be discovered in the midst of escape plans. Fourthly, he had been looking out of the window a lot and had thus noticed that guards only passed under his window twice a day, once in the morning and once more at around sunset. Hence, escaping by the window at this time, which was two in the afternoon, was an option that could be taken into consideration. The fifth point posed a problem to the fourth; he had absolutely no idea whether or not there was a backdoor in this place and if there happened to be one, he was equally clueless as to where it was or whether or not it was guarded, but he was going to have to take his chances.

As for rope... Well, there were always the bed sheets. Fuji immediately stood and began removing the bed sheets as quickly as possible. Then, he made his way over to the window. He tested the metal bar in the middle; it seemed sturdy enough. The former tensai moved the bonsai and candles away before turning back to the white sheets. There were two sheets for the king-sized bed and he tied them together tightly at one end to make a kind of rope before dragging them with him to the window. He looked down; it should be long enough. Looking around to make sure there were no guards, the former tennis prodigy tied one end of the sheet-rope to the bar securely and after a final check for guards, tossed the other end of the sheet-rope out the window and clambered carefully over the windowsill before slowly and silently climbing down.

He landed softly on neatly mown grass and edged along the white outer wall to the corner the way he always saw in action movies. Pressing his cheek to the wall, he peered around the corner. There were two guards walking away from him there on what appeared to be the usual patrol rounds. He hoped that there wasn’t a second pair around the other corner as that would definitely result in his getting caught. He waited until the pair of chatting guards rounded the far corner before quietly edging his way around the corner. On this side, there was a small gate in the wall that enclosed the house and its grounds. It was wooden, the type one usually saw on picket fences, and painted a rich terracotta to match the deliberately unpainted brick of the wall. Quickly, but noiselessly, he crept over to the little gate, looking around cautiously for any sign of sentries; no one came. Great; and the gate didn’t even have a padlock on the latch.

Fuji gleefully pushed it open and stepped through, shutting it behind him as soundlessly as he could manage. Before him there was a high cliff and he stood on beach sand. The sea was to his left and on his right lay a rather dense wood. The sea breeze was cool and salty, the sky clear and blue on this sunny day, and the woods were green and inviting. His bare feet sunk slightly as he walked in the sand and seagulls flew above the cliff which rose gracefully to end much further out at sea than the shoreline. All in all, it would have been a pleasant scene had the former tensai not been trying to escape. It was a beautiful landscape that just happened to conveniently be in the way of his flight from this place. A medium-sized blue and white yacht bobbed gently on the waves where it was moored to a long narrow wooden pier that stretched out at one side of the beach.

Evidently, this was Katsu’s private beach. Fuji sighed inwardly; so much for all his effort of running away. If this was private property, then even if he crossed the forest or walked over the cliff, he would still end up at a fence that was probably gateless and guarded. There were most probably sentinels in the yacht as well. He sighed, aloud this time, and ambled forwards miserably. There wasn’t likely to be another way out and going back now would mean immediate capture. He heaved yet another sigh. Was he to be trapped here forever? Seagulls squawked overhead, and he looked up enviously at them. They were so free... unlike himself. If only he could simply sprout a pair of wings and fly away for good... He sat down on the sand dejectedly; no sense in wishing for the impossible.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Fuji-san.” He wished they wouldn’t say his name like that; the honorific only made it sound like Mount Fuji in Japanese.

Seigaku’s former tennis prodigy turned to find a tall willowy woman in her early twenties looking downwards at him expressionlessly. Her waist-length black hair was tied up into a high ponytail atop her head, and her features were completely Asian, although her skin was uncharacteristically pale. Deep black eyes gazed sharply out from under double eyelids, and her slender frame was wrapped in figure-hugging black spandex with a black and gold cheongsam on the outside. The cheongsam’s slits were cut till just above hip-level to facilitate movement, indicating that it was a custom-made piece usually worn especially for fighting. A Chinese flat sword with a golden scabbard hung from a black leather belt at the left side of her waist and the rest of the belt held a variety of other weapons including daggers, darts, grenades, and even ammunition magazines for a gun she assumingly carried somewhere else since it wasn’t visible. She even wore Chinese martial arts cloth shoes.

“You’re Chinese?” he asked. It was the first question that came to his mind anyway and he simply didn’t care whether or not he was making sense anymore.

“No, Japanese-Korean mix. But traditional Chinese fashion is a lot more suitable for combat than traditional Japanese or Korean clothing.” Her quiet alto was monotonous and empty, like that of an emotionless doll.

“Oh...” He knew how intelligent that sounded, but what did it matter?

“My name is Yuriko Chang Young-na, and I’m the head of security and home affairs here. Pleased to make the acquaintance of one so favoured by my employer.” She held out a pale slim hand with long nails painted blood red like her lipstick and the ruby earrings she wore.

He decided to ignore the part about being favoured by Katsu. “Ah... And Izumi is...?” He took her hand and shook it and nearly got his own hand fractured in the process; she certainly took the idea of a firm handshake a lot further than most.

“The master’s right-hand-man. Kanou-san handles work affairs, mostly.”

“Actually, may I know who the master is?”

“We have all been given specific orders to let him reveal that to you himself.”

“What kind of person is he to be so secretive of his identity?! Some super crime lord?” Fuji demanded suddenly, his patience having just snapped out of the blue.

“The best kind of person; the type that only does what he thinks is best when it comes to the people around him.”

“And when what he thinks is best isn’t really that?”

“He is rarely wrong.”

“And when he is?” the former tensai pressed, beginning to get aggravated. Her toneless speech wasn’t helping his disposition any.

She shrugged. “By then, it is the sentiment and intention that matters. Everyone makes mistakes, and it is too late to change the past,” she replied, her tone still blank and inflectionless.

“Well, it isn’t too late to change my situation! How on earth did he come to the amazing conclusion that locking me up as a slave was the best thing to do for me?!” he nearly screeched in frustration.

“I do not claim to understand even the minds I hear,” came the vague reply. The look in her eyes grew distant. “I do not comprehend yours,” she said.

“What?!” He sure didn’t understand her either.

“If you are released, you will be caught and sent back to Japan. What awaits you there is much worse than what you have now. Why do you wish to go?” she enquired impassively.

“Who wants to be a slave?!” he riposted at about twice her volume.

“Depending on how you look at the concept, mankind has no choice in that matter.”

“What are you talking about?” he questioned calmly at last. For all he knew, they might have been talking about completely different things from the start.

“The same. Everyone is inevitably a slave to someone or something. All that differs is the master,” came the eerily detached voice.

“And who or what would be yours?”

“My master is long dead. I killed him.”

“I thought you said slavery was inevitable for mankind.”

“Then it would be the thirst.”

“What?”

“I’m a slave to the thirst then.”

“Thirst?” No, he wasn’t quite getting it.

“Never mind. The master will punish you for trying to escape. He is nice, but strict.” Her jet-black gaze slid towards the little gate through which he entered. “The other guards come.”

Just then, it opened and several guards hurried through.

“Ah, Yuriko-sama! The captive...” they began.

“... is right here,” she finished for them.

They all turned to give him a cursory glance. “Oh, what do we do with him now?” one asked.

“Blindfold him as usual. I will call the master for further handling instructions.” With that she turned and walked past them and through the gate as silently as a cat.

Fuji looked resignedly at the guards. He sighed. Yeah, it was probably inevitable, so he slid his eyes shut and held out his hands. Back to square one.

~*~*~*~

The office phone rang just as Tezuka finished a stack of paperwork. The next shipment was especially profitable and should definitely reach its destination in perfect condition. Weather was awfully bad at sea right now though; he’d just have to wait for a good forecast then. The shipping magnate ran fingers through artfully messed dark hair in mild frustration. He abhorred delays. Reaching for the light grey phone on his desk, he answered the call with a curt ‘hello’.

“Tezuka-sama,” a familiar emotionless female voice greeted him.

“Yuriko-san,” he acknowledged calmly. Usually, if his head of security and home affairs decided to call him at work, it wasn’t good news she brought. With Yuriko Chang, the good news could wait, the bad never. She didn’t think like ordinary people.

“Fuji-sama attempted escape today.”

By ‘attempted’ she meant that he failed. Okay.

“I await further handling instructions.”

Tezuka sighed. That, in a slave-master relationship, warranted disciplinary action. Why did the tensai just love asking for it? “Tie him...” He paused for a moment of consideration. “Tie him, shirtless, to the bars in the gym, the ones I use for arm training. They’re the highest bars in the house,” he decided at length.

“Is that all, sir?”

“Arms spread out,” he specified. “Tie the whole arm, not just the wrist.”

“I understand. Is there anything else, Tezuka-sama?”

He paused. “Give him a chair to stand on.” It wouldn’t do to exhaust Fuji before he returned.

“Yes, sir. Besides that?” Sometimes, he thought she sounded like a robot.

“That would be all.”

“Very well then. I shall see to it. Would you like to have him properly fed as well?”

“Yes. Don’t forget the blindfold.”

“That has already been taken care of.”

“Good.”

“Goodbye.”

Tezuka hung up. It was time to put some old lessons into practice. He didn’t relish using BDSM methods to discipline his former teammate, but trying to run away called for dire consequences and it was something any other master would have done with a slave, especially one of this variety. He considered the arsenal of tools he still had back home. He had kept the riding crop, figuring he’d try out horse riding someday, but had somehow just never found the time. If he didn’t have time for tennis, it stood to reason that he wouldn’t have time for riding either. Izumi played table tennis, so he could easily get a paddle. He had candles of almost every colour all over the house for decorative purposes and he could always borrow a cane from the gardener and his wife, the chef’s assistant; their son lived with them in one of the servants’ rooms and they caned the mischievous lad rather often. He still had the ring, of course. Then, there were other things around he could make use of. Despite his reluctance, the tensai was just going to have to pay. This definitely constituted un-Tezuka-like actions.

~*~*~*~

His former teammate was shivering by the time Tezuka stepped into the gym at around half past eight that night with a duffel bag filled with the items he might need. Despite all the warm soup that he had drunk at dinner, Fuji was freezing; the air-conditioning in the gym was extremely cold, and they had seen fit to leave him there in nothing but his boxers. Of course, it was partially his fault that he had refused to request any way of keeping himself warm out of pride, but they should have known it was glacial there and at least left him with a shirt. Maybe it was time he screwed his pride and informed whoever this person was who had just come to check up on him just how icy the air in this room was.

“It’s freezing,” he murmured quietly, trying to calm chattering teeth.

“Sumanai. Ore no yudan da,” came the now-familiar silken voice of his captor. (I’m sorry. My negligence.)

Katsu. Fuji remained silent. It was horribly frustrating, really. He didn’t want an apology; he wanted his freedom. Yudan... The word was hauntingly familiar though, like the missing piece in a puzzle that looked almost exactly the same throughout and yet wasn’t the same at all; now that he had found the piece, he still didn’t know where it fit into the puzzle.

“You escaped.” It was just an accusatory statement that didn’t really warrant a reply, but the former tennis prodigy knew better; his captor was demanding a reason for his actions and hopefully, a good one... or else.

“Obviously not,” he riposted unrepentantly.

Tezuka squeezed his eyes shut as he walked over, unzipping the bag. He really didn’t want to do things like these to Fuji, but the tensai just wasn’t being as smart and cooperative as he should be in a situation like this. He dropped the bag on the floor beside the bars and reached out to tug down his beautiful captive’s boxers. The former tennis prodigy shuddered slightly as more skin was exposed to the surrounding cold air.

“I just...” he began, about to remind the other just how chilly it was in the room, before crying out in pain as he was hit squarely on the butt. Hard. “What the...?” Another smack and he gasped. There was a resounding thwap that hung in the silence of the cold room. He bit back his screams as he was hit again and again in rapid succession. He was tied to the bars and there was no way to move away. He tasted blood, his own, on his bottom lip; he must have bitten down a tad too hard. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the slapping stopped and his captor’s warm hand caressed his tender skin. A warm cheek was pressed to his waist. He blinked. Moisture. He was crying?

“Why did you try to escape?” came the murmured question.

“I told you: I don’t want to keep being a slave,” he answered. His voice sounded a little shaky, and he hoped he didn’t sound like he had been crying.

“You promised me anything I wanted for your freedom.”

“You don’t want to free me at all!!” Fuji screamed accusingly.

“I want you to stay,” Tezuka acceded quietly.

“You want my body.”

“Your company,” came the simple correction, as the magnate felt his temper begin to rise.

“Oh, please, man. I’m not a child anymore. Do you really think I’m going to buy that and let you use me until you grow fed up of me and throw me away for another toy?” the former tensai queried mockingly.

“I never intended to do that.” It hurt, really, that Fuji thought of him that way. He hadn’t wanted his former teammate to like him or even know who he was, but had Fuji really encountered so many evil people who had done that to him? This Fuji didn’t seem capable of trusting anyone anymore. However, he didn’t have to be this rude.

“Stop lying to me!!” the slave yelled angrily.

“I don’t lie to you.” The mogul was growing furious; there was only so far one could push sympathy.

“You lie even as you say that!! Why else would you keep me here?! The only thing I could possibly offer you is my body! What else could you want?! If you real...” Fuji’s accusatory rant was abruptly cut short as his captor’s lips closed over his member and the chair beneath his feet was pulled out. He gasped as the other began to suck hard on his length. “What...?”

Tezuka was irate now. What had he ever done to the tensai (and Tezuka wasn’t thinking too highly of his IQ presently) to be accused of being that superficial? Everything he had done, from the secrecy to keeping Fuji with him, had been to save the other from a worse fate outside, for the former tennis prodigy’s own good.

“No, stop,” Fuji moaned breathlessly as he mentally cursed his treacherous body. He was so hard... Why did it feel so right?

Tezuka pulled away to fetch an item from the bag. Right now, he was incensed enough by his prisoner’s ranting accusations that he wasn’t feeling inclined to take things as slowly as he had originally intended. Severe retribution had to be dealt out one way or another, and any other master to a sex-slave would have agreed that such insolence as the tensai had shown was punishable by an acute upping of the pace.

Seigaku’s former tensai shrieked in pain as a whip cracked hard against his delicate skin, leaving a shallow cut on his back. He caught a whiff of his blood permeating the air an instant before another blow landed, and he nearly slipped out of consciousness as the pain seared through his system. Yet, the whipping wasn’t assuaging his desire; rather, it was having quite the opposite effect. With every strike of the whip on his skin, he only felt himself hardening further.

Fuji squirmed. The room had not gotten one degree warmer, but he was sweating profusely. His perspiration mingled with the blood from the superficial, but nevertheless stinging, cuts the whip was inflicting on his body, and the slick mixture coated his slender form with a clammy sheen. He had not stopped screaming, and his throat felt parched and hoarse.

It hurt terribly, but oh, it was so arousing at the same time! He wanted the other to stop and yet, he wanted so much more. He moaned, the sound tinged with mingled desire and despair. He didn’t want to be used as a fuck-toy and yet, he wanted his captor to touch him harder and make him come. Tezuka pressed his lips to a cut on the slender beauty’s delicate skin and licked lightly at the fusion of sweat and blood on sweet satin. Somehow, all that anger from a moment ago seemed to have turned to lust.

 _God, he tastes so good,_ the tycoon thought as he moved his mouth over his former teammate’s skin, tasting as he went. “Promise you won’t try to flee again,” he murmured against soft silken skin as his free hand roamed the helpless form suspended before him, and he inhaled the salty metallic scent of blood and perspiration tinged with a sweetness that seemed naturally Fuji. It was slick and wet, but there was something delicious about that. The very sight of the other like this made him hard, and he longed to just grab the smaller man and screw him senseless, wanted to come inside his former lover again, yearned to feel the other coming because of what **he** was doing, knowing that no one else had ever or would ever possess Seigaku’s tennis genius as completely as he did.

The tensai groaned and writhed, but refused to answer. He knew he couldn’t keep that promise anyway. Why bother making it? Tezuka sighed inwardly and dropped the whip, repressing his fantasies for the time being, as he bent over and reached into the bag. Pulling out a length of rope and a knife, he cut the rope in a half before tying one half to each of the former tennis prodigy’s ankles. Fuji made one last-ditch attempt at struggling, hoping he’d somehow manage to at least kick his captor in the face or preferably somewhere more painful, but failed and resigned himself to his fate. The tycoon fetched the pair of two-kilogram-weights he used for muscle toning from across the room and promptly tied them each to the other end of a rope. The former genius felt the significant strain in his arms and shoulders as his body was weighed down. The lack of blood circulation from remaining in the same position for the better part of the day already caused him sufficient pain without the added weight to burden them.

“Promise you won’t try to flee again,” the magnate repeated, murmuring the words against silken inner thighs. He slid his tongue closer to where he knew the older man wanted it most... Closer, closer, but never quite touching.

The other squirmed, but remained defiantly silent. Seigaku’s former captain suppressed another sigh and moved to reach into the bag for a candle and a lighter. The lightest-coloured one he currently had in his possession was a pale blue one that was decoratively shaped like an obelisk. It would drip a lot and probably hurt pretty badly, but it would have to do. Alarms went off in Fuji’s head as he heard the click of a lighter close behind and he tensed, bracing himself for the pain he knew was coming. Tezuka flicked the lighter off before tossing it back into the bag and advancing on the older man. He tiptoed slightly to suck gently on first one nipple, then the other. His captive wriggled slightly as a sound of desire escape his bloodstained lips. It was cold... and Katsu’s lips were warm on his skin.

Suddenly, he cried out in pain. Hot... Cold. His captor was using candle wax. The wax burned delicate porcelain skin an instant before the cold air of the room cooled it and made him shiver again. Wax trickled down his spine. Hot, cold, hot, cold... The interchanging sensations were intense... mysteriously more arousing than painful... somehow driving him insane with need instead of pain. He felt the other move, and then the wax was dripping down his front instead, trickling down his shoulder onto his chest. He gave a grunt of pain as a small stream of wax coated a nipple and tensed as he felt some drip down his abdomen. He really didn’t want to know how it felt like there. Thankfully, his captor dribbled the wax down his hips instead... only to curve back to his inner thighs. He moaned; he craved the hand that skilfully stroked him to climax, longed for the mouth he found himself losing his sanity in.

“The whipping was for trying to escape, the weights for being stubborn, while this and the slapping are for your insolence,” Tezuka explained softly against silken skin, just above the area feeling most the absence of his attention.

Fuji groaned breathlessly. “Punishment,” he managed to pant out. He could barely breathe, let alone speak, from the need the other’s actions were evoking in him.

“Aa,” came the reply as the taller man blew out the candle. He walked over to the bag again and considered its contents before picking out the bundle of long soft leather strips tied together to form a brush-like item. He spun around, flicking the leather strips at his prisoner’s groin, eliciting a gasp of pain from the other. He watched, transfixed, as the older man’s face contorted into a look of horror... Contorted, yes, but still beautiful. Only it was a different kind of beauty now: one that was dark and magnetic, no longer the nonchalant prettiness he usually had.

The tensai yelped as the strips of leather struck his throbbing member again. For the life of him, he simply couldn’t fathom why the pain seemed to be bringing him closer to the edge instead of further. He didn’t even know whether or not the other had any idea what he was doing or if this had any adverse effects in the long term. “What’s this for?” he gasped. Oh, he was so **close**! He needed to come, needed it now.

“This...” Tezuka flicked the strips at the lovely slave’s crotch again with expert accuracy. “...is to remind you how much you want this,” he finished after a moment’s consideration.

Just once more. _Please,_ Fuji thought. _Make me—_

“And this...” The mogul fished the cock-ring out of his pocket. “...is to remind you of what you are,” he told his captive as he slid it on. He really didn’t want to torment Fuji, but... Retribution was necessary, and he knew that this was the only thing his former teammate would submit to. Fuji had always been unusually responsive to the touch of a man... his touch, to be more specific. As long as this relationship they had going lasted, the genius had to know his place.

The other’s cry of anguish filled the room and hung in the frigid air. “No,” he whispered.

The tycoon moved closer and closed his mouth over his former teammate’s rigid length. The slave cried out in passion and desperation. He didn’t know how his captor could incite so much pleasure in him while causing him so much pain. He needed release so badly.

“Say it,” Tezuka whispered against the silken shaft, now wet with saliva and precum.

Fuji could only cry out helplessly in ardent need in response as the other traced the main vein of his organ with a rough tongue. This time, the younger man sighed aloud. He picked the whip up from where he left it on the floor of the gym and stepped back to deal a good lash to the other’s bare bottom, educing a loud shriek of pain from the tensai as the hard leather made yet another thin cut in his delicate skin.

“Say it,” his captor repeated, voice barely audible above his own harsh and ragged breathing. The soft leather strips struck his groin again, and he moaned in response.

Fuji knew what the other wanted to hear. However, his silence didn’t come from plain defiance. He was genuinely having difficulty breathing and his arms and shoulders hurt terribly from the amount of strain being put on them. He was shivering from the bitter cold and his ankles hurt where the rope was beginning to cut into his tender skin. His right knee ached where it had once been hit very hard by a tennis ball a long time ago; a numb pain always returned to haunt that old injury whenever it was exposed to the extreme cold. The clammy sheen of perspiration that coated his body stung where his wounds were uncovered by candle wax and the pain of being forcefully held back from release was slowly growing overwhelming.

He couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t get any words out. His throat was parched and just getting air into his lungs seemed to require a conscious effort. If this went on, he would most likely pass out. The problem was that the other was highly unlikely to listen to him if he asked to stop, and there wasn’t a safeword he could use to indicate real danger. This was real punishment after all; it wasn’t exactly meant to be safe. The whip hit his back again, and he felt the world hazing over.

Tezuka sighed quietly. If Fuji would only say that word... They could get it over with. He wasn’t exactly relishing this. “Say it,” he repeated, trying very hard not to add the ‘please’ behind the words as he put the whip and leather strips down to wrap his arms loosely around the tensai’s thighs.

 _Traffic lights,_ Seigaku’s former tennis genius recalled suddenly. They were generally accepted safewords used just about everywhere. “R-R-Re-Red l-light,” he whispered hoarsely. It was so difficult to speak. Perhaps, for the sake of his own well-being, it was best he be obedient. “M-Master,” he added almost inaudibly.

The instant he heard the words ‘red light’, Tezuka had been alarmed. He swiftly grabbed the dagger he had brought along from the bag and reached up to cut the bonds even as Fuji finally whispered what he wanted the tensai to say. It was entirely his fault if anything happened to Fuji; he had been careless, negligent; he should have mentioned a safeword or, since that would have been a total giveaway, been more observant. The smaller man looked close to fainting, a fact he should have noticed some time back. He had probably been too harsh. He caught his prisoner as he finished cutting the bonds and the other simply rested limply against him. He cut the ropes that tied the weights to the older man’s ankles; there was a loud thud as they fell to the floor. Quickly, Tezuka carried his former teammate to the thin mattress he used for performing abdominal crunches and lay the slender man there.

He hovered over the limp form below him, stroking silken honey-brown strands. Fuji was thankfully still breathing. The magnate berated himself for his negligence. How could he have been so careless? He moved his hand to cup a smooth cheek in his palm. _Please be alright,_ he thought anxiously, caressing the pale skin lovingly. The beauty felt cold to the touch. Carefully, he lowered his body to give him body heat without resting any weight on the smaller man. Tezuka could feel the tensai’s now almost completely flaccid length rubbing against his own erection and it was doing nothing to dispel his lust, but no, he certainly wasn’t going to jeopardise his former teammate’s well-being just to satisfy himself. Fuji stirred, mumbling something incoherent before choking and coughing dryly, bringing his captor to the realization that he needed water.

“A moment,” he whispered, rising in one swift fluid motion to quickly make his way to the hot-cold dispenser beside the door to the shower area.

The door was glass, like the other three walls of the gym and was positioned just diagonally opposite the double doors through which he had entered. Those doors led to the Olympic-sized indoor pool he usually swam in in the morning. From the pool area, there was another door —this one wooden— that led up to the main part of the house; he had locked that one to avoid unwanted disturbances. The pool’s lights made a dancing reflection on the white plaster of the ceiling, a serene sight that in no way matched the violence that had taken place within the gym. He opened the door to the shower area and reached in to flip the switches for the lights and heaters for the showers, the heated Jacuzzi, and the steam bath on. Behind him, the tensai made an incoherent sound as if to protest the sudden absence of warmth, and he spun around at once, allowing the door to click shut on its own. Tezuka hastily filled two glasses from a tray beside the dispenser with warm water and made his way back over to his former tennis prodigy’s side.

“Here,” he whispered, propping the shivering man up with an arm and pressing the glass to chapped lips that hid chattering teeth. Those lips parted slightly, and he helped the other drink the entire glass of water. The tremors calmed visibly, and the next glass went down a little easier. “More?” he offered, after his captive had finished the second glass.

Fuji simply shook his head slightly in response. Since the steam bath probably wasn’t ready yet, the mogul wrapped his arms around the older man to keep him warm. He didn’t get a protest, most likely due to the slender brunet’s exhaustion. The tensai simply rested his head on the taller man’s left shoulder, causing Seigaku’s former captain to flinch marginally; the old tennis injury still ached occasionally, especially when he was tired or in particularly cold and damp surroundings. In retrospect now, Tezuka really thought that sacrificing his shoulder and tennis career to just make a point was definitely the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life and would hopefully stay that way; he simply didn’t want to consider the possibility of doing anything more foolish than that.

“Why did you stop?” The hoarse whisper brought him out of his reverie.

There was a long silence as the tycoon gave the question the thought and consideration it deserved. “You’re of no use to me dead, and if you landed in the hospital, you would be caught and deported back to Japan AFTER causing a lot of people a lot of trouble,” he answered at length. The stillness on the other end probably meant that the answer had satisfied the lovely slave. It was true, of course, albeit not the main reason he had stopped. While he sure as hell didn’t love the tensai, he certainly didn’t want any harm befalling an acquaintance to be on his conscience. But aside from that, if he was so sure that he didn’t love Fuji, why did he crave the other’s company so?

Fuji sighed inwardly. He was beginning to regret stopping his captor. Maybe he should have allowed himself to be hospitalised and deported back. Then again, if it would get a lot of people in trouble, there was no guarantee that the businessman would even send him to the hospital. In fact, the odds were that they’d simply let him die and dump his corpse somewhere out of the way where he wasn’t likely to be found. Yet, perhaps death was a better fate than this. At least, if nothing else, he would be with his family again in the afterlife. Yeah, he should have kept his mouth shut.

He felt the other man lift him now, carrying him bridal-style. They passed through a doorway, and the warmth that immediately washed over him was like a shock to his system after the bitter cold of the last room. He leaned his head on the other’s chest; it was warm and —God forbid— it was even beginning to feel comfortingly familiar. The texture of silk against his cheek was smooth, as smooth as the planes of muscle he could feel underneath. Tezuka cradled Fuji as he walked towards the steam bath, rubbing the tensai’s back to generate more heat. Laying the lighter man on the tiled floor just outside the steam bath room, he hastily removed his clothes, grabbed a random bottle off the second rack of a stainless steel shelf on the nearest tiled wall, and turned the steam output dial to maximum before opening the door and carrying his captive inside.

The super hot steam was very welcoming for a frozen Fuji. He felt like the apex of his namesake, covered in snow, and the steam felt like the sun, melting the snow away and making everything pleasantly warm. The tensai felt himself being lain down on his side upon what appeared to be an enamel bench. He almost immediately tried to move into a more comfortable position, which resulted in his falling off the bench onto his captor who had himself lain down on the bench just one step lower than his own. Evidently, this steam room had been built similarly to a sauna.

Tezuka uttered a grunt of pain as the former tennis prodigy simply dropped onto him like a falling deadweight. The feel of his former teammate’s skin against his own was not at all helping him control his lust, and he knew the older man could sense that, what with the way his erection was pressed up against the other’s arse.

“Sorry,” Fuji mumbled as he tried to climb off the other man, wondering why, if the other was so aroused, he wasn’t on the floor right then being slammed unconscious. _Katsu’s really nice at heart,_ Izumi’s words echoed in his mind. _Could it even be possible?_ he wondered.

Silence was his only response as strong arms wrapped around his waist then, keeping him where he was. Tezuka flipped over then, pinning Fuji facedown beneath him on the chair. _He’s going to after all,_ the tensai thought to himself. He sighed inwardly. _They’re all the same, aren’t they?_ A sweet smell permeated the air an instant before hands glided over his tired painful shoulders, rubbing a fragrant oil on his skin before massaging him there.

“W-W-Wh... Why?” he sputtered before he could stop himself.

He was a slave, one that was disobedient and insolent and... and rebellious. He didn’t deserve the pleasure —or honour, from a slave’s viewpoint— of being massaged by his master; if anything at all, their positions should be reversed. Masters weren’t supposed to want to please their slaves; slaves were supposed to seek only their masters’ pleasure. He didn’t understand. Even the supposed punishment from a while back... While a lot of pain had been inflicted, it was obviously intended to give pleasure in a twisted sadomasochistic sort of way.

First that, and now this. He just couldn’t grasp what was going on. Either the famed mental power he had possessed as a boy had vanished with the passage of time, or it had at least dwindled to the point of uselessness. There was also the possibility that he had truly been outsmarted this time or that perhaps, he wasn’t really even meant to understand. One minute he was being disciplined, the next he was being rewarded. It didn’t make sense. It just didn’t make any sense.

 _Why?_ Tezuka asked himself the very same question as he continued to move his hands over smooth porcelain skin, now covered in superficial cuts and slick with blood, sweat, water, and scented oil. He gazed blankly at the bottle of massage oil now perched on the higher bench, noting that it was some aromatherapy thing made with the essential oils of rose, orange, and patchouli. Not one that he had bought personally, that’s for sure. In fact, he remembered that the many bottles of similar oils on that same shelf had come as a set, given to him by someone that he couldn’t presently recall.

 _Why?_ He thought of the other time these same two people had been together in a similar position. It had been that night, after the fateful game with Atobe that eventually came to destroy what might have been a brilliant tennis career. Although he could still play tennis after the rehabilitation in Germany, the injury still returned to haunt him, especially on cold damp nights. It was always the worst during late winter and early spring, and he knew by then that going professional was already out of the question. A professional career would at best be short-lived and might result in even more injuries, leaving him suffering even more than he did now. The magnate held back a sigh.

That night, after the most foolish game he had ever played, only Fuji had come to see him. Everyone was visibly concerned in school the next day, but Fuji alone had visited him that night, dropping even the mask of cheerful nonchalance in his obvious anxiety. He had tried to allay the tensai’s worries, but the gorgeous genius would have none of it. _Stop pretending like it’s alright, Tezuka. It would take a blind man not to notice how much pain you’re in,_ a fifteen (or four, depending on how the counting was being done)-year-old Fuji had told him rather tersely then, before insisting on giving his aching shoulder a massage, saying that it was the least he could do. _You’re the nexus of our team, Tezuka. Everyone’s worried about you. You did it for us; I can only help you like this,_ he had said, having been uncharacteristically sweet that night.

And so, his captain had allowed it. Fuji Shuusuke could be very persuasive when he wanted to be and that definitely fell into the category of ‘when he wanted to be.’ The massage had been wonderful and he had fallen asleep during it, waking up the next day to find that the ache in his left shoulder had receded enough for him to move his left arm without cringing in pain. After watching the tennis prodigy’s game with Rikkaidai’s Kirihara, he had sought to return the favour when Fuji came into his room that one night in Munich, but his efforts were brushed off by a lusty hormonal genius whose only interest then had been in compensating for lost bedtime together by breaking the bed the first chance he got. Needless to say, the cot itself remained intact, although they had both gotten next to no sleep that night.

A soft sound of pleasure from the slave before him now drew him out of his reminiscence. _Why indeed?_ he asked himself as he returned his attention to the slender frame he was rubbing, sliding his slick hands down to knead his former teammate’s arms instead. Well, it was high time he returned the favour, but there was no way he was going to tell Fuji that. There was also the fact, though, that running his hands over the other’s beautiful willowy body had always been and undoubtedly would always be an enjoyable activity. That seemed like a safe enough excuse. He leaned forward to trail kisses down the curve of a familiar spine, eliciting a soft moan of pleasure from his captive.

“I enjoy this,” he murmured against smooth slick skin.

The room was hot and steamy, and beads of perspiration were forming all over both their bodies. The scent of the massage oil was clouding his senses, and Fuji could feel his captor’s slick thighs rubbing against his butt, the now flaccid member brushing against the small of his back due to their proximity. That, coupled with the kisses trailing down his spine, was arousing him all over again even as those hands slid down his waist to rub his bare bottom. They were starting to burn his skin even in these hot, steamy surroundings and, if this Katsu guy enjoyed giving pleasure and playing masseur... Well, who was he to complain? Those hands left his skin as Tezuka poured more oil on his hands and applied it to a well-rounded bottom and subsequently, slim, graceful thighs.

He heard the former tensai moan again, this time with a more sexual kind of pleasure, as he kneaded those silken thighs firmly. Just watching the other’s reactions was arousing. Fuji’s breathing was growing ragged, and he dipped his fingers in to rub sensitive inner thighs, evoking a gasp from his panting captive who only spread his legs wider invitingly, showing the mogul just how hard he was. Tezuka had not been planning on screwing the beautiful slave after how far he had gone earlier, but if even a massage was this arousing, then Fuji obviously wanted to be taken anyway. But he knew about the haunting knee injury from how the other had flinched when his leg was bent back when the tycoon had carried him, and he would at least rub it for a while.

Fuji felt the other's hands slide down his right leg to his knee before thumbs applied pressure to the aching joint. He allowed his captor to tend to it, although he truthfully wanted attention elsewhere, since it eased the pain tremendously. The former tennis genius was torn between cursing his treacherous body and pleading to be taken. Somehow, he wanted it, wanted his captor to take him, use him, make him come... He cried out as a slick digit slipped past his entrance to stretch him. Apparently, he had been sufficiently blatant about his desires. He changed positions then, getting on his elbows and knees on the bench to facilitate what would come next.

Tezuka moved closer on his knees, applying some of the oil on his own throbbing member, as he pulled his three fingers out of his partner. Steadying Fuji with an arm, he pushed into the older man, past the tight ring of muscle into that constricting heat, that tightness and friction. It was a heavenly sensation, the way they fit so perfectly, like hand in glove, the sensation of just being inside. Fuji groaned as that hard organ filled him completely before crying out as a burning hand closed around his own length. Tezuka withdrew almost completely before thrusting into the smaller man again and again, just losing himself to the sensation as his hand moved up and down the other’s member, feeling the leaking precum cover his fingers. Fuji followed his captor’s rhythm, driving backwards to deepen each thrust and increase the pleasure. He was close and he no longer knew whether it was his partner’s cries or his own that he was hearing. It was only at the very edge that he was reminded of one singularly important thing.

“The ring,” he gasped. “Please... Aaahh!”

This time, Tezuka didn’t hesitate to remove it, tugging it off as he thrust a final time into the slender brunet, spreading his seed inside him. The lovely slave came, spurting globs of warm semen on the magnate’s hand and his own abdomen with a loud cry of ecstasy before collapsing to the bench in exhaustion. By the time Tezuka himself slumped forward, the former tennis prodigy was already fast asleep. He allowed himself to lie there for a while, inhaling the scent that was simply Fuji. Nuzzling the graceful curvature of that slender neck, the businessman stroked soft tresses with his clean hand. It took only another moment for him to realize that he was resting his full bodyweight on the willowy frame below him.

Quickly, he rose, lifting his unconscious companion and exiting the steam room. Turning the steam output dial to off, he carried the lighter man into one of the shower cubicles and turned the taps, adjusting the temperature of the water until it was tepid. He gently propped Fuji up against the glass divider between cubicles and carefully washed him with a small washcloth that always hung just outside the cubicles, taking extra care to avoid wetting the blindfold. After that, he cleaned himself thoroughly and turned the taps again to stop the water. Lifting the sleeping Fuji once again, he deposited him in the Jacuzzi before moving to switch off all the other heaters and turn on the water jets for the Jacuzzi.

He got into the pleasantly warm water then and drew the other close, wrapping an arm around him so his head rested on Tezuka’s right shoulder. Where he sat on the step, the water was at chest level, just as he had intended; it had been carefully measured during construction. The water jetted out around him, with one outlet just behind him, and it felt somewhat like a full-body-massage. He found it tremendously relaxing. The mogul reached out for a covered glass dish that lay just within arm’s reach and opened it to grab a handful of scented bath salts to sprinkle into the water. The scent of lavender soon pervaded the air, adding to the overall feeling of relaxation.

His former teammate was still fast asleep, not having stirred even once throughout the journey from steam bath to Jacuzzi. Well, considering how taxing the past few hours must have been, he wasn’t surprised that the tensai was dead tired. He gazed up at the electronic clock mounted on the wall; it was almost half past eleven. A full three hours had passed since he had begun punishing Fuji. Perhaps it wasn’t much of a punishment though, seeing as the tensai obviously experienced as much pleasure as he did pain. Just then, said person stirred beside him.

“Mmm... Where?” came the sleep-slurred murmured question as the lithe body next to him stretched slightly.

“Heated Jacuzzi,” was his curt reply.

“Mmm...” His former teammate seemed to have snuggled closer.

Tezuka was silent for a while. Somehow, having Fuji here beside him, leaning against his side in this seemingly contented manner felt so right... somewhat like home. That revelation finally brought him the answer to his earlier question: Why, if he was so sure that he didn’t love Fuji, did he crave the other’s company so? Well, if he had to put a finger on it, it would most likely be the familiarity. His former teammate was, in a way, like a comfort zone. They had once been in a kind of affair, clandestine and unemotional; they had been sexual partners, rivals and friends, not lovers. The feeling of once again having a warm, familiar body beside him in bed was welcoming, somewhat, and very relaxing after all the stress of a hard day’s work. Of course, there was also the physical aspect, but more to the point, when he was with Fuji, he could forget his problems or worries for the night. It helped with the previously rather arduous task of getting a good night’s sleep while worrying about the next day's marine weather. And like anyone who ever had a comfort zone, he didn't want to leave it; because Fuji had always been there, he wanted Fuji to always be there. Selfish, yes, but so utterly disgracefully human. He wondered if the other was asleep once more and tapped him lightly on the hip underwater enquiringly.

“Mm?” came the sleepy response after a brief pause.

“Stay.”

“Huh?”

“Stay,” he repeated.

There was a long silence and Tezuka wondered if the tensai had indeed returned to dreamland. Then...

“Aa.” Hesitant, reluctant, but affirmative anyway.

Fuji wondered why he agreed. Perhaps it was the risk of a second round of punishment, perhaps his mind was too sleep-clouded to think rationally, but somehow, staying here with this guy called Katsu didn’t really seem like such a bad idea anymore. Not that escape was a possibility, but maybe he no longer wished to consider it. If he was to end up with a similar fate even after he escaped, then perhaps it was best he just stayed put. Better to have the devil you know, than the angel that you don’t; you already knew the extent of the devil’s evil, but you had no way of knowing whether or not the angel was false. By this point in time, he had to agree that Izumi did have a point about the whole 'having one master against having a different one every night' issue.

Tezuka paused, hesitated as he pondered the pros and cons of his next move, before turning to press a chaste kiss on the other’s forehead, another of those familiarities that seemed so inexplicably natural and calming. It took him by surprise, but Fuji made no comment. The more he was favoured, the better he would be treated. Thus, he should just be thankful he was well liked. And perhaps he could just lie to himself and pretend he was loved, since it would make everything easier. It was easy to pretend, really; his captor was almost always so nice. He reckoned this Katsu was definitely much nicer than a whole lot of other possible masters out there. And for the time being, he knew he was safe. Just that feeling of security alone was enough put him at sufficient ease to drift off back to sleep.


	4. Remembrances

It was dark, pitch black, in fact, when he opened his eyes. What was wrong? Why couldn’t he see? Then, he remembered: The blindfold was still on. He reached up to remove it, only to be stopped by warm, familiar hands, hands that had recently roamed his entire body, setting his senses ablaze. Katsu. _Why was he still here?_ Fuji wondered. People didn’t sleep with common sex-slaves like himself. They just used their ‘services’ and left. He didn’t understand this man’s motivations. Oh, he had indeed said that it was Fuji’s **company** he wanted, not just his body. Perhaps he was just doing this to prove his point.

“You stayed the night,” the tensai observed quietly.

“Always,” was the equally quiet reply.

“Huh?”

“I always stay the night,” the other elaborated. “I just usually leave before you wake up.”

“What makes today special?”

“You’re awake earlier than usual.”

“What time is it?”

“Five thirty a.m..”

Fuji paused. “Why?” he asked at length.

 _Hmph. Trust Fuji to ask why about everything,_ Tezuka thought to himself with just a tinge of amusement. “Curiosity killed the cat,” he whispered, allowing that tinge of amusement to lace his voice.

“I’m completely human,” the former tennis prodigy riposted.

“Ignorance is bliss.”

“Knowledge is power,” his captive argued.

“Would I give you power?” Seigaku’s former captain enquired then.

His former teammate sighed. “I guess not,” he admitted.

There was a long silence as Tezuka silently debated whether or not he should answer Fuji’s question and how he should answer it. “I like warm beds better,” he said at last. Well, it was pretty much the truth. He didn’t lie to Fuji; that was spoken truly too.

“Doesn’t everyone?” came the dry response laced with a bit of the deep-seated bitterness that came from too many horrible experiences.

“Don’t you?” he riposted.

Fuji didn’t reply. He tried to sit up and immediately flopped back gracelessly as a wave of vertigo swept through his brain.

“What?”

“Nauseous... Headache... D...” His answer was cut short as a warm palm was pressed to his forehead.

“Fever,” was the verdict when that hand moved away a moment later. The tensai was appalled to find himself missing the contact. “Sleep. I’ll have some medicine brought.” The other rose and left the bed.

“Now?” he asked, surprised. He felt fine lying down, really, just a tad lethargic.

“With breakfast.”

“So where are you going now?”

“Morning jog.”

His lips formed a silent ‘oh’ as he heard the other walk around the bed in the direction of the door.

The footsteps paused. “Why? Do you want me to stay?” his captor enquired.

He had to stop himself from demanding ‘who wants to be sick alone?!’. That sounded so utterly humiliatingly cheap, his pride wouldn’t allow it. Thus, he refused to answer. He probably looked like a spoilt brat who was too proud to just ask for what he wanted anyway, considering the other’s next sentence.

“Well, I guess I could miss a day of jogging, since you put it that way.”

Fuji recognised the trap and refused to fall into it; once upon a time, he had used the same tactic on others. “Jogging’s good for health. You shouldn’t miss it and risk catching the bug from me,” he replied coolly.

“Such concern for someone you supposedly don’t like.”

“No sense living with strife when you’re stuck where you are.”

“And more sense living with lies?”

“Who’s lying?”

“I don’t lie to you.” A disguised accusation, but an accusation nonetheless.

And he couldn’t even honestly say ‘neither do I’. “Everything here is a lie,” was the reply he settled on.

“That would include you.”

“Maybe I am,” came the distant response.

Tezuka sighed softly. “Really?” he asked quietly, moving now to perch at the edge of his captive’s side of the bed.

Fuji moved a little to make space for the magnate, but remained silent. Seigaku’s former captain hesitated momentarily before reaching out to brush a knuckle gently against a smooth cheek. They were both still naked after last night’s activities. It was probably his fault the former tennis prodigy was sick anyway. He should have known better than to leave his former teammate in the frigid gym wearing only his boxers. He leaned forward, close to the other’s left ear.

“I’ll stay,” he whispered.

Silence was his only reply as Fuji felt a chill somehow creep into his body, replacing the pleasant warmth of a moment ago.

“It’s probably my fault you’re ill anyway.”

He snuggled further into the blankets, but it wasn’t helping. The chill seemed to be seeping into his bones, spreading throughout his body. It was beginning to grow cold, cold in a way that the blankets didn’t help, since blankets didn’t generate heat; they only reflected your own body heat back at you. Right now, he had the distinct feeling that his body wasn’t producing any. He was shivering slightly, and he felt like he was beginning to perspire. Cold sweat. It wasn’t just cold anymore; it was freezing. He curled up as tightly as he could. It didn’t help. His teeth were beginning to chatter and the shivering was getting worse.

“Sleep then,” came the other’s silken voice, misinterpreting his actions as a sign of sleepy snubbing. Just as Tezuka rose to find a better position, he heard a soft gasp amid the sound of chattering teeth.

“Cold,” Fuji gasped as best he could.

He could barely speak from how his teeth were chattering and even breathing grew difficult. He didn’t know how the heat and warmth from a moment ago could suddenly dissipate so quickly, but it felt like the South Pole now and he needed warmth desperately. A hand pressed against his forehead once more even as the shivering turned into shaking. The iciness seemed to be coming from somewhere within; the air-conditioning had been barely cool just moments ago, so it wasn’t likely to be the cause of the chill.

The former tennis club captain was alarmed at the feel of cold sweat on the other’s brow, not to mention how a forehead that had been feverish just a minute ago had suddenly gone cold to the touch. He could feel the tensai shaking under the thick blanket despite being curled up like curly fries, and the strange thing was that it still felt faintly warm beneath the blanket when he slid his hand under it.

In a flash, he was doing the only thing he could think of to warm the slender beauty: He lifted the blanket to mild protest and quickly got into bed with the other, swiftly uncurling the ball the tensai had compacted himself into and pressing their bodies close together before wrapping the thick wool-lined blanket around them both. Fuji wrapped his arms tightly around the taller man, clinging to the only source of warmth around, never mind his pride or how undignified it was to have the other rubbing his back from shoulder to bottom to help generate more heat.

Perhaps he was still being used, but at least he was cared for. This Katsu person didn’t have to care if he was freezing to death from some internal winter, and even if he didn’t want him dead, there was always the option of getting a hot-water-bottle or putting him near a fireplace instead of doing this. But there he was anyway, lying beside a common bed-slave he barely knew to keep him warm. Fuji felt the other’s body heat seep comfortingly into his body, warming him pleasantly. He felt considerably better, warmer. Their legs were intertwined, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had been this close to someone for nonsexual reasons.

Tezuka held his former teammate close, trying to maximise skin contact in order to transfer as much body heat as possible to the other. He could feel the tensai shivering in his arms, and the sound of chattering teeth still resonated in his ears. In his memory, there were quite a number of similar nights albeit for different reasons and for the more recent ones, with different people. It had always felt good... Perhaps not this good, but one should never compare such things when they were given as gifts of affection.

However, the familiar scent and feel of Fuji in his arms would probably always be the most vivid in his mind, how they had once found solace and pleasure in each other, how silence was once louder than words, how they had once known each other better than anyone else. It was neither love nor lust; it was... Perhaps there wasn’t a word to describe their relationship; maybe the closest would be ‘confidant,’ but they had been comfortable with what they had, that Venn diagram that only overlapped slightly in the middle, but remained clearly separate otherwise. No one else could do that for them and he wondered if perhaps Fuji had missed that as much as he had.

Then again, the Fuji he held now was a much different person compared to the one within his memories. Perhaps the tensai no longer wanted that. The person in question snuggled closer and the younger man tilted his companion’s head upwards to steal a kiss from parted lips. The response he received was eager, almost loving maybe; the teammate he remembered had always been rather more reserved in the demonstration of affection, somewhat like himself.

No, Fuji no longer wanted so much privacy and personal space. Perhaps he still did somewhat, but now, it seemed like he wanted desperately to be loved and cared for, to feel safe. Maybe he couldn’t give the former tennis prodigy love, but care was easy enough to provide. _Was Fuji really safe with him, though?_ he wondered as the other’s breathing grew deep and slow as Fuji drifted off to sleep. He didn’t know, but as he pressed his lips to the graceful curve of a willing neck, he thought it would be nice if time had just stopped then.

~*~*~*~

The sun was shining brightly through the window by the time he woke up. Tezuka gave it his best glare, but it had never and would never work. It was horribly glaring, but more importantly, it was high in the sky. Tezuka Kunimitsu was late for work. And it was all the fault of a certain former tennis prodigy lying naked on the bed in his arms. Fifteen goddamned years and Fuji Shuusuke could still manage to upset his schedule. Absently, the shipping tycoon wondered why he ever allowed his former teammate to, but then realized in retrospect that he hadn’t had a choice. The damned tensai had a power over him like no other.

He still wasn’t wearing his glasses —hadn’t been wearing them since the night before— and thus couldn’t see the numbers on the clock, but judging from the general position of the blurry hands and the general height of the sun in the sky, it was nearing eleven. Work started at nine. Of course, being the boss and owner of the company meant that he neither needed to be punctual nor did he really even need to go everyday, but that was beside the point. Tezuka Kunimitsu didn’t come in late. Tezuka Kunimitsu didn’t skip work. And most importantly, Tezuka Kunimitsu did not sleep in, especially not because someone else was in bed.

That someone stirred beside him and stretched slightly before snuggling closer. The former tensai’s features were peaceful and relaxed in sleep, serene and beautiful like the sunrise. He reached out to lightly stroke those silken tresses; they always felt so soft to the touch. With that vision before him, he couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed at either Fuji or himself. And no, this time, he wasn’t even feeling inclined to show up at work. That was totally against his principles, but since he was already late and there were no important appointments that day, he decided to let Izumi handle everything and just call in supposedly ‘ill’. He guessed a day off wouldn’t really hurt anyway.

He wanted to remove the blindfold and kiss those closed eyes, see the light in beautiful cerulean blue orbs when they opened, but no, that was not an option. He neither loved nor wanted to love Fuji, and he didn’t want the other to feel that way about him. That made remaining anonymous the best idea. He reached out for the walkie-talkie on the bedside table and called the kitchen to order ochazuke for breakfast. He ordered himself an Unagi-chazuke and a salmon and nori one with an extra large glob of wasabi for Fuji before asking them to bring warm milk and medication for fever and influenza. Then he lay back down and gazed at the sleeping form beside him. Fuji Shuusuke ALWAYS messed up his life.

~*~*~*~

Fuji blinked up at the blue sky above him. It was clear and clouds moved slowly past in swirls. The smell of fresh spring grass was refreshing, permeating the air around him as he lay on the ground gazing up at the sky. _Such a perfect day to play tennis,_ he thought, sitting up. There were some empty tennis courts nearby. He was in a playground, one that looked distinctly familiar. It was the playground near his house, where Yuuta and he used to play when they were little kids. The realization brought him a sense of nostalgia. The sound of children laughing and playing could be heard in the background accompanied by the tinkling of ice-cream stall bells; it was like music to his ears.

The sound of a moving swing came from behind, and he turned to find a six-year-old Yuuta swinging contentedly on one of the swings. He laughed gaily as he swung higher and higher, and Fuji found himself smiling; the sight filled him with such joy... and yet, simultaneously such sorrow. He knew it wasn’t real; how could it be, when his beloved brother was long dead? He was wishful, but not in denial. It was then that the young Yuuta noticed that he was being watched.

“Aniki, you’re awake,” he stated with a grin, slowing the swing down before jumping off to approach his elder brother.

Fuji Shuusuke felt short. Well, not that he wasn’t short, just that he wasn’t exactly this short. His six-year-old younger brother was only an inch shorter than he was where the former now stood before him. He looked down at himself. This attire looked familiar too, his favourite set of clothing back when he had been seven years of age. So they were children again. Maybe that was best. After all, as the author of The Little Prince took great pains to point out in that story, only children see and understand the really important things. Hesitantly, he reached out, afraid that his beloved brother would disappear when he touched him, but he didn’t, and Fuji ruffled his honey-brown crop before pulling him into a bear hug.

Yuuta chuckled in his brother’s arms. “Ne, aniki, want a game?” he asked, indicating a tennis bag nearby. It was the bag they used to share whenever they went to the park to play, an old blue canvas duffel they had had for at least four years. To see everything he had lost again like this, it made the older Fuji want to laugh and cry all at the same time. It was like paradise, in a way; so beautiful that it filled one with joy just to gaze at it, to know that such a place exists, but so despairing from the knowledge that one would never get there.

He nodded, and they made their way over to the tennis courts after picking up the bag. The courts were brand new because they had been built just the year before, the synthetic surface of the court pristine except for a few dead leaves. Yuuta absently nudged the leaves aside as they walked across the court, the way he was wont to do whenever they played when they were little kids like they were here. He placed the bag on a bench at the other side of the court and unzipped it.

The two racquets were the very ones they had back then in reality. Even then, he had used a light-aqua-coloured racquet. It had all really started as some weird superstition. He was a Pisces; Pisces was a water sign; it was always good to be in one’s element; light aqua was the colour of water. It probably brought luck, and even if it didn’t, since when did the Fujis ever need a reason for weird quirks?

They took out the racquets and warmed up together, sitting down and stretching properly before chasing each other around the court for a little while as a warm-up run. Then Fuji fished two tennis balls out of the bag, and they took their positions at the baseline. Yuuta had a silly grin on his face as he stood, ready to face his prodigious elder brother. They had played then, as children, innocently, without envy, without resentment. There was no genius, no reputation to live up to, no living within another’s shadow, just brothers playing friendly games together.

“I’m going to beat you today, aniki!” Yuuta declared confidently from across the court.

“Oh, dear... Looks like I’ll have to try harder then,” he replied with an indulgent smile as he bounced the bright yellow-green ball and prepared to serve.

The competitive look appeared on Yuuta’s face, the one he always wore when rising to a challenge. No accusations that he was lying, no anger or resentment came. The elder Fuji could have cried tears of joy right then; he missed these times. He didn’t bother with the special serve he recalled practicing back around that age, just served the ball normally to his brother who ran to return it. The Tsubame Gaeshi, at least, he had to use somewhere during the game. Yuuta had already seen it once, had been impressed and fascinated (at least until the bitter version of sibling rivalry began), and it really wouldn’t do him justice to not use it at least once.

Of course, theoretically speaking, he wasn’t actually doing the other any justice at all; he was very far from playing to the best of his ability. He had already developed the Higuma Otoshi at this age, even if he had never used it in a match yet, and he could definitely perform the Hakugei (provided, of course, that there was sufficient wind blowing in the correct direction) within a few tries to develop the proper muscle memory for the task. He wasn’t really in any position to talk about doing anyone justice, since he wasn’t even truly making an effort to beat the youngest Fuji.

And then again, how many people were there that essentially warranted his playing to the best of his ability? He hadn’t even had to work at playing singles until he met Tezuka, Ryoma, Atobe, and the Rikkaidai bunch. Not to say that the other players weren’t good, they were all great players in their own right, but still, you didn’t call Fuji Shuusuke a prodigy for nothing. In fact, he used to prefer playing doubles for that precise reason... until Tezuka came along and became the first person to upset his outlook on the world. Finally, someone his age that he actually couldn’t beat even when he tried! He probably knew that deep down inside before they had even played.

Thus, he was drawn to the stoic boy, so drawn that his feelings soon transcended rivalry and friendship to the point where his life began to revolve around his buchou in more ways than one. Their first match disappointed him so greatly. How could Tezuka have even thought of sacrificing his arm and his entire future and tennis career just to keep a promise? In retrospect, Tezuka was always like that, with him, with Atobe... The idiot. He always took his responsibilities, promises, and principles so seriously, he never even considered the consequences that might eventuate upon himself. Risking everything for a dream, that was Tezuka Kunimitsu. Back when he had grabbed the other by the collar of his shirt, he had tried so hard not to tell the boy —and he had been a rather shy boy back then, quite unlike the man he had become— how much he loved him. How could he think that keeping his promise that way would have made Fuji happy?

Fuji didn’t believe in love at first sight, and he doubted Tezuka did either. Yet, there was something about Tezuka Kunimitsu that could attract him like a lamp would a moth, that always took his breath away whenever they were close. It was undeniable, and he knew with utmost certainty that it ran much deeper than simple lust. But how did you tell a guy you barely knew that you were gay and in love with him? It was probably every homosexual’s dilemma: Tell the truth and risk destroying what could be a wonderful friendship, or remain silent and try to be happy with just being friends with the person you wanted so badly to completely possess, pretending to be happy for said person when he or she finds the so-called love of his or her life while wishing inside that it was you. Naturally, like most people facing that dilemma, he chose the latter over the former and quietly watched Tezuka from the sidelines.

They came to know each other better over time, and it eventually came to the point where if Tezuka had only two friends in the world, they would be Ōishi and him. They grew even closer after Yuuta transferred, as Tezuka had been silently supportive as he had tried to cope with the pain, and they had ended up spending so much time together —on the court, in class during their sophomore year, studying together, in each other’s houses— as he tried his very best to keep his longings at bay. That was probably the reason he came to be known as a sadist too; one needed good entertainment to take one’s mind off such things, and there really hadn't been enough of that without ingenious intervention. Therefore, he had done the only logical thing: intervene.

Then, winter had come in their sophomore year and changed everything. They had been the last to leave after practice as usual, and the order of things after practice had always been the same. Everyone would help clean up the courts, Tezuka would go on his rounds just to check that everything was in order, then go to see if he had any outstanding student council duties to perform, and Fuji would help him as best he could before they both went to shower, and they would then walk home together. Fuji had long since given up looking at his captain by then. Why torment yourself with the temptation of something you couldn’t have? The sight of Tezuka in the shower with water cascading down that well-toned body would always make his knees weak.

That day, he had been shampooing his hair when he turned to find Tezuka watching him as if in a daze. Thank God the water had been steaming and his skin already a little flushed; otherwise, Tezuka would have immediately noticed the blush he could feel coming to his cheeks. It was a stupid feeling; they were both guys after all, but the fantasies that immediately ran through his mind all pointed out to him that, in his opinion at least, that was a matter of little consequence. The other had quickly turned back to lathering soap on his body with his back to Fuji. He had watched, his throat gone dry, as those hands moved over smooth skin and the equally smooth planes of rippling muscle beneath, wishing they were either his hands or that they were moving over his skin.

He had swallowed hard to moisten his throat before speaking. “Is something wrong, Tezuka?” he had asked softly, eyes opening completely. Thank goodness, his voice had sounded normal.

“No, just thinking,” came the reply. Had it just been his imagination or had the other’s voice really been a tad husky? Seigaku’s captain had absently reached out to turn a tap then.

Fuji had blinked at that, confused. Cold water? In winter? It just didn’t make sense... unless... He had felt his pulse speed up and wanted to smack himself. Those reactions were comparable to that of one of the many female admirers that his buchou had —much to his internal relief— turned down. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he had stepped towards the other boy, who was standing under the next shower faucet. _It's now or never,_ he had decided then, and he had wanted to know what Tezuka had been ‘thinking’ of. It was a suspicion he had needed to clear. The other had jumped slightly as he had placed a hand on a soapy shoulder.

“About what?” he had whispered the question close to the taller boy.

“The upcoming tournament,” his buchou had lied, but Tezuka had always been a bad liar.

He had winced then as he had stepped under the rain of cold water to face Tezuka, eyes sliding down to where he had known he would find what he’d always wanted. So, he had suspected right after all. It had been hard to hide his delight then, as he had pressed their bodies together swiftly, eliciting a gasp from the usually stoic tennis club captain. “About this?” he had murmured near the other’s ear, reaching out to turn the hot water back on. The water had grown warm again as he had pressed Tezuka to the tiled wall, rubbing against him and arousing them both. The taller boy had moaned as alien feelings and sensations washed over him, holding onto him as powerful muscular legs turned to jelly.

“Don’t,” his buchou had gasped. “Fuji...”

“Why?” The question had been a husky murmur.

“We’re both...”

“Guys. Yeah, I know,” he had interrupted, still in that tone of voice.

“We don’t love each other.”

“You’re sure?” He had tried to sound playful to hide the pain the insinuation that Tezuka’s attraction to him was purely physical caused.

“We don’t know each other well enough.” The other boy’s breathing had grown more ragged as he became completely erect.

“Then let me learn,” he had replied, sliding his eyes shut. Through those words, he had said then that it was alright, that he could live with it being just physical for the time being, that it was enough for him just like that. Perhaps love could come later. Thus, he had taken Tezuka there and then, slumping down to the mosaic floor together with his partner afterwards and lying in his arms for some time before finishing the shower and walking home with him as usual as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

After that, by all appearances, their relationship had changed little. However, for him, that one encounter had revolutionized everything. In truth, there had been little difference besides the introduction of a sexual aspect to it, but initially, it had been heaven. They hadn't become lovers; they had continued to maintain their boundaries and privacies, and the only time they had been more than close friends was in bed. He had been top at the beginning, since Tezuka’s family was a conservative one, and the guy had never even considered the possibility of having a different sexuality, but as they grew more familiar with each other, they had begun to take turns.

For him, it had always been love, but he would likely never know if Tezuka ever loved him at all, let alone the way he loved the other. Yet, then, he had accepted it, thinking that things might work out later; at least, he had some of what he'd always wanted, if not all. All in all, it was perhaps a bad beginning, but for the most part, it had turned out alright, even if real romance never materialized. And while Echizen’s appearance had drawn some of Tezuka’s attention, he had felt no jealousy whatsoever for the cute freshman. The kid was, in Tezuka’s eyes, an heir or a successor, little more. It was a different kind of attention, and he too had joined the rest of the team in contributing substantial attention to their resident o-chibi-chan, who —lucky him— soon found himself a boyfriend anyway (Yes, Echizen was gay too, as most of his friends who played tennis incidentally happened to be).

Anyhow, in their second serious match, much to his despair, he had realized that Tezuka had always thought of him as little more than an eternal rival. For Tezuka, playing with him helped him rise higher. For him, playing with Tezuka was like a life-changing experience. With every single shot, he felt closer to the other, felt like bonds had strengthened and deepened. If it was his buchou, he felt like he could follow him anywhere, no matter how high, no matter how far. Heartbreaking, but it was better than nothing. That was why he had to win; he would settle for rivalry, if love was out of the question. The tears he had cried when he had lost the tiebreaker had both been out of joy for the terrific game as well as sorrow for the realization that his love would likely never be returned.

Even when they both ended up in Seigaku’s Senior High Division, little changed. They remained rivals and played several more matches privately as well as among the Senior High Regulars, most of which were the same as in Junior High besides the few who had either stopped playing or gone to different schools, but no, Tezuka still showed no signs of ever loving him in return. At night, beneath the covers, they were as lovers were; by day, it was back to being rivals and friends. He swallowed the pain and persevered, although he had almost given up hope. Then, Tezuka had left to study in the prestigious Wharton University of Pennsylvania in America, and all the trouble with the underworld had begun and while he never stopped loving Tezuka, he had resigned himself to never meeting the other again. Thus, he had put the past behind and tried to forget.

In any case, his prophetess of a sister —and the thought of her brought him another pang of sadness— had inevitably been right after all; she had once told him, long before he even hit puberty, that he would eventually come to like men as much as she did. Of course, back then, he had found the concept positively gross, but well, Fuji Yumiko was almost never wrong about her predictions, and he did end up being gay, despite how much he tried to deny it initially. How could denial last when the object of your attraction was your very own younger brother? He had been both gay and incestuous right up till Tezuka appeared and drew him like a magnet would iron dust... then he was just gay. The elder Fuji had to try very hard not to look amused at that final thought, let alone laugh out loud. It really wasn’t, in retrospect, much progress.

The match he was playing with Yuuta currently stood at 4-4 and the game at 40-30. He prayed Yuuta never found out that he had been paying more attention to his thoughts than the tennis ball he had been absently hitting for the past half an hour. His brother hit him another chance ball, and he returned it with the Tsubame Gaeshi to win the game. 5-4 now and he contemplated winning this last game to win the set or perhaps let Yuuta win it and win the next two for a 7-5 result. He continued to consider it as he returned Yuuta’s serve. Well, for old time’s sake, perhaps the latter would be nice; he missed playing with his beloved little brother, and he wanted it to last longer anyway.

Just then, Yuuta smashed the ball, and it was bouncing lightly away from the baseline of the opposite side of the court before Shuusuke realized that he had reflexively played the Higuma Otoshi and immediately regretted it. 40-15. Much to his surprise, Yuuta just turned and picked the offending ball up with a spoilt-brat-pout on his face.

“Mou... Aniki... Another cool skill? How am I ever going to catch up?” he nearly whined the lament. No anger, no envy...

“I’m sure you will. I just came up with it recently. I wouldn’t have been able to return that wonderful smash otherwise,” the elder Fuji replied, trying to sound more relieved than apologetic. Privately, he was wondering how to lose this game to his opponent without being blatant about it.

“So what’s this one called?” the gray-eyed sibling enquired grudgingly, a mildly disgruntled look on his visage as he served again.

“Um... Higuma Otoshi,” the other answered, returning the ball.

“Brown Bear Falling Down...” mused the younger of the two, just as his opponent pretended to accidentally hit him a chance ball to use his rising shot on. He hit it to the opposite side of the court, his elder brother deliberately —unknown to him— missing it by a bare inch. 40-30. He grinned.

Fuji Syuusuke waited as his younger brother served the ball, pondering how to give away the next point. He returned the ball, only to have Yuuta give him the perfect chance to seem as if he accidentally hit the ball out. He intentionally hit the ball a tad bit harder than he should have before making a show of looking rather remorsefully at his racquet.

“Ara... Yarisugita ka?” he mused aloud. “Zannen.” (Ah... Have I overdone it? Too bad.)

Deuce. Yuuta looked positively delighted to be back in the game. All fired up, he served again. It was a great shot, one that his brother couldn’t have returned even if he had tried. Ace. Advantage. One more point to lose and the game would be Yuuta’s. The elder Fuji pondered how to lose that one more point to his younger sibling. Funny how he was trying to lose instead of trying to win in the first match he was playing against his younger brother in the last twelve years. Another serve, another return; they continued to hit the ball back and forth. He deliberately hit the younger Fuji another chance ball. They stood 5-5 at last. Now, to go about winning the next two games.

Fuji Shuusuke proceeded to play a game as laid back as he would normally play with Yuuta back then, adjusting his skill naturally so that he would be only slightly better than his opponent. He ended up winning the game and allowing Yuuta to win the next one before taking the match by winning the tiebreaker 7-4. Well, 7-6 wasn’t all that bad now, was it? He watched as the short-haired boy dropped to the floor and lay there facing up at the sky declaring how utterly exhausted he was. Shuusuke smiled indulgently at the other’s behaviour, joining him on his side of the court and lying down beside him. He certainly wouldn’t be caught dead confessing to his younger brother that the match had just been a good workout and no, he wasn’t really tired at all. There weren’t many players that could exhaust Fuji Shuusuke, after all.

They looked up at the sky again as a flock of birds flew past overhead. It was still as clear and blue as the last time he had looked up. The few clouds were white and fluffy, reminding him of how their mother used to tell them that the clouds were giant puffs of cotton candy floating in the sky. Then he and Yuuta would laugh and talk about how all the sugar would stick to the aeroplanes that flew through or past them, resulting in sticky sugarcoated aeroplanes landing in the airports everyday and the workers having to clean off the mess. Yuuta had even wanted to be one of those workers just so he could get free cotton candy all the time, and he always teased that he would lick the boy clean if he ever came home covered in the stuff. Of course, that illusion shattered the first time they flew in an aeroplane and reading some encyclopaedias together taught them what clouds really were, but life was all about learning, and children wouldn’t be children without such delusions. He felt a warm hand in his own and turned to face his grinning brother with a smile before squeezing said hand and returning his gaze to the sky.

“What do you think is out there, aniki?” the question came suddenly.

Fuji frowned slightly, puzzled. “Out where?”

“You know... Out there, beyond the sky.” The other gestured vaguely upwards.

Well, he **knew** , not thought he knew, what was out there from all the high school science books he had read, but what did it matter? He doubted Yuuta wanted to hear the scientific truth anyway. They were children after all; scientific truths don’t matter to children. Still, “Planets,” he replied, not wanting to stray too far for the sake of being educational. “Stars, moons, asteroids.”

“Hm...” Yuuta knew planets, stars, and moons, but not asteroids. He had heard about them before, but never quite understood the concept. “Asteroids are tiny planets, right, aniki?”

“Hm,” Shuusuke responded absently.

“Why are they called asteroids and not planets?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re different. Maybe the scientist who discovered them was loonier than crack,” he answered, turning to look at Yuuta who giggled in response.

“Do you think there are aliens out there?”

“I don’t know. Lots of people think so, though.”

A long silence passed between them.

“Aniki?”

“Hm?”

Yuuta jumped up and triumphantly pointed up at the sky. “I’m going to be there someday! I’ll be the first to see if aliens really are those cute furry green thingies we see on TV!!” he declared confidently.

The elder of the two chuckled at that although the knowledge that it was a dream never to be realised saddened him greatly. “I’m sure you will, Yuuta. Maybe they ride comets,” he suggested, sitting up.

“Maybe someday, we’ll ride comets too!!” the other chipped in enthusiastically.

“Un!” he agreed with a laugh, and they both just laughed for a while.

Then the elder Fuji stood, and they walked over to the bag and stowed away their racquets and tennis balls before picking up the bag and exiting the court. They moved back to the swing and after leaving the bag a short distance away, swung together in silence for a short while. The sound of children laughing at play could still be heard although there didn’t seem to be any children in sight; it was such a pleasant background music to Shuusuke’s ears in accompaniment to the familiar occasional creak of the swing. A cool breeze blew past, blowing his soft hair into his face, and the sun began to set behind them. The waning sunlight shone warmly on their backs, creating that homely serene feeling. Such a wonderful setting for such a wonderful experience. How perfect.

“Aniki, you know how the sunset could be seen with just a slight angling of the chair on asteroid B-612?”

“Hm?” Of course he did. The Little Prince had always been their favourite fairytale; it was such a beautiful story, so terribly amusing sometimes and yet, so poignant and meaningfully sad. He knew the entire tale by heart and could probably recite it to the letter.

“It would be nice if we could watch as many sunsets as we wanted just by doing that too.”

“Yeah, they’re beautiful, and the perfect atmosphere for all kinds of bonding between brothers,” he replied, slanting a mischievous glance at his younger brother who seemed oblivious to the obvious implication in the words.

“Do the stars frown, aniki?” Yuuta asked suddenly, looking up distantly at the sky again.

“Huh?” Suddenly, the elder sibling felt rather lost. He had absolutely no idea what the other was talking about.

“The stars. I’m there somewhere, like the prince was on his. I frown. Do they frown for you?” he elaborated.

The stars... Yuuta... Then, he knew he was dead? “No,” he replied quietly. “They are silent, unchanging...” he trailed off. “I... I don’t see you anywhere but here and here.” He indicated his temple and the left side of his chest.

“You close your heart.”

He remained silent for once, no intelligent answer to give the other. Perhaps the intelligence of the reply didn’t matter; children understand, but he wasn’t really sure what he could say to that accusation. He didn’t even know if it was true.

“More than those closed eyes, you close your heart. You don’t want to see.”

Strange how Yuuta was beginning to sound like the elder of them, and he was actually trying to advise his elder brother. “Do I?” Shuusuke wondered aloud absently. In the background, the sound of a ringing bell grew louder and closer and he turned to notice a clown pushing an ice-cream cart not too far away.

The younger of the two finally turned to face his brother, eyes serious and voice slightly saddened. “Don’t grow five thousand roses without finding what you seek.”

The elder Fuji blinked, speechless.

“You’re walking through the wheat fields, but you don’t realize how precious that golden wheat is yet.”

Still, he waited as he continued to stare into gray eyes he had not seen in many years. So intense, so full of the life so terribly missing in his own.

“You know the fox?”

A pause. “Yes,” he answered quietly.

“It’s important to be tamed. You don’t allow it, aniki, you know?”

“Yes, I...” he began to protest.

“No, not anymore,” his brother interrupted. “You don’t want to be the one left to cry again... But then, you won’t find it.”

“I’m not really looking for anything, Yuuta,” he informed the other calmly, niko smile in place.

The younger Fuji ignored his brother. “Ice-cream, aniki?” he asked suddenly, pointing at the ice-cream cart and its clown owner.

The tensai of the siblings stood. “Aa.”

They made their way over to the vendor, the elder Fuji taking in the clown’s appearance meanwhile. A few dark brown locks showed beneath the bright red hat and the puffy orange, green, red, and white chequered clown-suit actually managed to not look completely silly with the red McDonald shoes and the equally scarlet large foam button nose worn over a painstakingly hand-painted white mask. Absently, he noted how bizarre it was that a clown should be selling ice-cream in a park on a perfectly normal day, but he requested a strawberries and cream sundae cup for his younger brother and an apple-cinnamon one for himself nevertheless; not flavours normal ice-cream vendors in parks had, really, but since he was rather certain that he was dreaming... A white-frilly-gloved hand ducked into the cart to fetch the appropriate flavours. That’s when Shuusuke noticed how unnaturally wide and red and large the smile painted on the mask was, how strangely fake everything had been painted on, for some unknown reason.

“You can’t be special if you don’t allow anyone to even try taming you or vice versa,” his brother’s words interrupted his reverie abruptly.

He didn’t get a chance to reply when the sundaes were presented to him bare inches away from his face with a bland ‘hai’ from the clown. “Ah, hai, how much?” he asked the jester instead, passing the strawberry one to his brother before digging for his purse.

“1800 yen,” came the equally bland reply.

The tennis prodigy wondered why the guy was a clown if he had such bad humour. He almost reminded him of Tezuka, actually. That was when he realized something important. He was short on cash. He only had 1550 yen. Not helpful. Oh, well, too bad then; he’d just have to go without one. “In retrospect, I think one will do. How much is the strawberry one my brother’s eating?” he enquired, hiding his mild disappointment under the mask of the niko smile he always wore.

“800.”

“Okay.” He gave him the money, deciding that it might be the best opportune reason to get Yuuta to feed him ice-cream and get on with the supposed bonding. He turned to leave with Yuuta, who simply grinned up at his brother over the sundae cup.

“Wait.” A flash of emotion in that bland voice. It was just a flicker; he couldn’t be sure.

He turned back around to find the sundae still being shoved towards him. Apparently, the clown had not understood him. “No, thank you, I really don’t want it,” he told him.

The clown shook his head slightly and shoved it in his customer’s direction again.

The elder Fuji blinked, then he thought he understood. “For me?” he asked the disguised man as he took the ice-cream from one gloved hand.

“Always,” came the reply, the only verbal reply that seemed human. It had emotion, love, and an unfelt-before intensity to it.

“Always?” He wondered aloud.

“Always,” he reaffirmed, and as Shuusuke took a mouthful of ice-cream, he realized how deliciously sweet it was. “Thank you,” he murmured, knowing that part of the sweetness was felt more than tasted. And he felt, more than saw or heard the smile behind the painted white mask. It was strange... Strangely familiar, this feeling was, as he looked up at the masked man, who suddenly didn’t seem as tall as he had seemed before. So familiar that he was compelled to ask. “Who... Who are you?” he enquired softly before licking the apple sundae again, his free hand reaching out almost unconsciously for the mask.

The hand that grabbed his wrist to stop his hand was firm but gentle. “You know,” he said quietly, voice thick with some intense emotion as the gloved hand rubbed his skin gently.

Such a familiar voice, but he just couldn’t place it. “I... do...?” he mused aloud. There was something... he couldn’t see the colour of the eyes very well through the eyeholes in the mask, but he could feel their intensity somehow. Were they brown? _Deep hazel,_ he thought, but he wasn’t sure. The floor seemed to fall away beneath his feet, disappearing, and he felt like he was falling, falling, drowning, and yet, the feeling was almost a pleasant one, warm and safe.

“You always have,” came the quiet, insistent reply. The shared gaze threatened to swallow him whole, but that was an almost welcome sensation.

Fuji Shuusuke could only shake his head in silent denial.

“Yes,” the reply was almost a whisper, gentle and intense all at the same time. “Close your eyes; they are blind. Look with your heart. You know.”

The park, the ice-cream cart, everything ceased to exist. It was just the two of them in the middle of nothingness, suddenly, and they never moved from that position. He let his eyes slide shut. For a moment there was nothing, then he found himself smiling as he felt warm breath on his lips. Somehow, in his heart, he knew that person, even if he didn’t know **who** it was. “I know,” he whispered back, barely audibly, and then soft lips were pressed gently to his own as hauntingly familiar arms wrapped around him, enveloping him with a sense of great warmth and security... and that grew literal as the solid feeling of those arms seemed to dissolve into a mist... no, a cloud that wrapped itself around him, encompassing him in that wonderful feeling even as the dreamlike sensation slowly faded and, like the dawn mist that flees before the early morning breeze, disappeared completely as he found himself awake alone on a warm bed with the scent of warm food filtering to his nostrils.

~*~*~*~

Tezuka turned at the sound of stirring on the bed and moved just in time to stop slender fingers from undoing the blindfold. He had seen fit to put on a bathrobe temporarily, but the lovely bed-slave was still in his birthday suit.

“Why are you still here?” Fuji asked his captor, surprised. Not that it particularly annoyed him, but still, the man really didn’t have to.

“Brunch is here,” Tezuka informed his former teammate, ignoring the question. A servant had just left after bringing the requested food and medication.

“But why are you still here?” the other repeated as he helped him sit up in bed, keeping the blanket above waist-level for both his own sanity and general decency.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked the former tensai, pressing the back of his hand to the smooth forehead to check for a temperature. Still on the warm side, he decided.

“Yes, thank you, but why are you still here?” Fuji Shuusuke really felt like the little prince now; he’d already asked the same question thrice, and he somehow didn’t feel like giving up without getting an answer. Absently, he wondered if it was because he wanted, on a subconscious level, to hear that he was special to someone, no matter who that was.

“I said I’d stay,” the magnate replied at last. And he had indeed. He did not lie to Fuji.

Was that disappointment he felt, deep inside? What had he expected to hear anyway? Did he really want to feel special that badly? He wondered why he bothered. Properly psychoanalysing oneself wasn’t possible. People just had trouble looking at themselves objectively. He remained silent.

“Sake-chazuke,” Tezuka announced as he mixed in the whole glob of wasabi for his captive. “I had them add nori to it because people need fibre in their diet.”

“How thoughtful of you,” came the rather bland reply. The other’s niko smile was already in place, and the tycoon was beginning to feel very much in favour of wiping it off the other’s beautiful visage using some of the methods running rampant through his head.

“Here. It shouldn’t be too hot to hold.” He handed Fuji the bowl, which had been placed in a basket to facilitate holding.

The other blindly reached out for it, slowly. He took the offered basket and bowl and allowed a spoon to be placed into his other hand, before slowly starting on his meal. “Itadakimasu,” he murmured softly before placing the first spoonful in his mouth.

“Itadakimasu,” Tezuka echoed as he begun on his own meal.

They finished the meal in silence and Fuji peaceably let the other feed him his medication before downing the glass of warm milk with it. He thought about the dream, about Yuuta, and sorrow filled his heart at that. That had been the best time of his life, really, back when their relationship had been good, the way brotherhood should have been, before his reputation as a genius lead to envy and inferiority on his younger brother’s part and destroyed everything, placing a wedge between them that took so many years to remove, that resulted in so many wasted years of strife. He sighed softly. Just when they had managed to overcome that, everything had come crashing down and Yuuta was wrenched away from him permanently before they even had had much chance to enjoy the relationship they should always have had.

The shipping tycoon turned to face the other at the sound of that soft sigh from where he was putting the empty dishes back on to the tray it had been brought up in. The sight that greeted him made his mouth go dry. He licked his lips to moisten them, but they were dry again in a trice. Blood seemed to be rushing downwards very quickly and his breath hitched momentarily in his throat. The coverage of the blanket on Seigaku’s former tensai ended just barely above slender hips. A dainty foot peeked out from under the blanket and hung just slightly off the bed. Honey-brown tresses were in a strangely sexy disarray and the milk moustache just above the other’s upper lip was tempting him like the devil himself to just go over and lick it off. He didn’t know what it was about the picture that was so damn arousing, but the only thing he could think off was shoving the slender beauty on the bed down and ravishing him senseless.

The tongue that lapped at his upper lip startled the former tennis prodigy out of his reminiscences an instant before his lips were hungrily claimed. He really wasn’t in the mood for this right now, but oh, those hands! They roved over his skin, leaving every last inch tingling with arousal. The blanket was pushed away as Tezuka undid his own robe and tossed it carelessly aside. He really didn’t know how it was possible for Fuji to have such a power over him, but one look was all it ever took to interest him. No matter how he resisted, several touches and he was doomed. His former teammate was just... sexually irresistible. He was so hard, and he couldn’t imagine ever getting enough of the other as he moved to suck on a nipple.

Fuji gasped in response to the suction, his arms and legs wrapping around the lean form above him. Fingers trailed down his spine and he arched his back reflexively with a low moan on his lips, heightening the sensation of the tongue that had just dipped into his navel. A soft cry escaped his lips as his partner used a little suction there before slowly trailing kisses downward. The anticipation was almost too much as that warm wet mouth moved closer, closer to where it was most wanted... and then it was pressed to his inner thighs with only a peck at the base of his rapidly hardening length. He cried out in anguish, only to moan repeatedly as hands and that mouth moved up and down his inner thighs, always halting just before the area most in need of attention.

Tezuka absently coated his fingers with lubricant as he continued to tease an already very aroused Fuji. Slender hips bucked in response to his ministrations, trying to create friction where it was most ardently wanted, and he slid slick fingers underneath to slide into that sacred entrance. He traced its outline several times, giving its owner even more pleasure as he suddenly pecked the tip of the former tensai’s length without warning, eliciting a loud cry of pleasure that just as quickly turned once more to anguish as he returned to tasting creamy white silken skin, now reddened from all the attention it was receiving. He slid two fingers into that tight passage and stretched those muscles as best he could to accommodate the size of what was soon to take the digits’ place.

The sounds of pain swiftly became cries of pleasure as the magnate finally took the neglected shaft into his mouth and began sucking hard on it, scraping the skin with his teeth occasionally. The taste of precum overwhelmed his taste buds as he added a finger to the first two and continued to prepare his partner for what was soon to come. He had to press hard enough to hurt at the base of that heated shaft to keep his captive from coming as he nibbled on the tip of his arousal, where he knew his former teammate was most sensitive. Then Fuji stretched out his hand blindly and reached forward as far as he could... and hit the jackpot. Tezuka gasped as a smooth hand closed around his own erection, sending a wave of pleasure over him. Then, the hand began to move up and down violently as his captive began to stroke him hard. He moaned loudly as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him, almost forgetting about his plans for the other.

Pressing down hard again at the base of the other’s length, he nibbled on the tip again, swirling his tongue around the smooth hard organ every now and then and evoking loud cries of passion from the other. Using the cock-ring would have made everything so much easier, but he couldn’t be bothered presently, and he seemed to be using it too regularly anyway. He felt his own orgasm building and swiftly —albeit reluctantly— pulled his captive’s hand away before lubricating his own arousal with his already coated hand. Keeping his fingers on that point of Fuji’s shaft, he turned the other around and positioned himself before pushing into the constricting heat that was completely Fuji. It took almost all his effort not to come right then; the tightness and the heat felt like heaven on earth and he was so... close. He released his tight hold on the base of the other’s cock and fondled the sacs gently as he waited for his partner to adjust.

“Mmngh... Is this... how people... in this country... cure the sick?” Fuji managed to gasp out amid ragged breaths.

“Just how... they cure... certain people,” he replied, equally raggedly.

“Did they... ever... consider... how much... strain... it puts... on the body?”

“Doubt it... but I suppose... few who were... cured like this... complained.”

Then he drew out of that slender form almost completely before thrusting in again at just the perfect angle, holding himself back by sheer willpower. He wanted to feel this tightness and pulsating heat for as long as he could. The pain of being entered had brought the other back somewhat and he took his former teammate’s shaft in his hand to draw him to the edge faster. He thrust repeatedly into the other, stroking the other’s erection and thumbing its tip with one hand while using his other hand to steady the other. He pressed kisses to Fuji’s neck and shoulder blades as the former tensai expressed his pleasure and passion verbally in screams.

Fuji followed his rhythm, moving backwards to bring him deeper. The recurring tightening of smooth muscles on his hardness was just too much for Tezuka and he came before the slender man in his arms, spreading his seed inside the former tennis prodigy. He groaned as heated muscles continued to clamp down on his now very sensitive shaft while he kept on stroking Fuji to the willowy man’s own completion. It took another five pumps before his partner finally shuddered in release with a loud cry of ecstasy on his lips, covering his hand with hot semen, and they collapsed together on to the bed. They lay that way for a very long time, both too spent to move. Then, Tezuka withdrew from Fuji before drawing the other close again into a tight embrace.

“Was it the cure-all it’s reputed to be?” he asked Fuji in a whisper.

“Mmm... Does that mean ‘am I feeling better?’” Fuji asked in a sleepy voice, stretching lazily.

A hickey on the back of his neck was his answer.

“Well, I was already fine before this, so I don’t suppose it’s to be given credit for that.” He wondered when just lying here with his captor had become so easy, so right. He reached for the hand tracing circles on his abdomen and felt the fingers. They were beautiful, strangely akin to that of a pianist’s and yet, he didn’t think that this man played the piano. He didn’t seem the type. “~ You play any instruments?” he asked then.

“Drums,” the magnate replied truthfully, figuring it wouldn’t hurt. Thousands of people played the drums anyway. “You?” he returned, although he already knew.

“The... I used to play the keyboards,” he responded softly, sadly. The thought brought back so many painful memories, like the ones where Yuuta and he used to go for music class together, Yuuta for the guitar and himself for the keyboards.

“You should play for me,” the magnate murmured, reaching to feel his former teammate’s forehead. It was somewhat cooler than the last time he had checked. “Must have done you some good after all; the fever’s completely gone,” he observed.

“Heh, just an excuse to use my body even when I’m sick,” Fuji riposted in mock-annoyance.

Behind him, Tezuka stiffened and the former tennis prodigy knew he had said something terribly wrong when his captor abruptly stood up. “Fine, have it your way,” the tycoon said tersely.

He thought to protest, but pride advised otherwise. There was a rustle as the man collected his clothes and put on the robe before the door beside the bed opened and slammed shut swiftly. Fuji never moved from his position on the now otherwise empty bed, not even bothering to remove the blindfold. Was that remorse he felt deep down inside, along with a sense of loss?

~*~*~*~

“Hageshii kimochi desu ne... Tezuka-sama,” came a familiar monotonous observation from his right. (Such violent feelings... Tezuka-sama.)

Tezuka turned to face the speaker who was currently sitting on his windowsill with one leg hanging off. In anyone else, this would have been taken as suicidal behaviour; in Yuriko Chang Young-na, it was just a run-of-the-mill occurrence, something she did with regularity just because she could. The magnate knew perfectly well that she hadn’t gotten there the way most humans would have i.e. through the door, since the door to his room was locked and off-limits to everyone except the cleaning maid unless under his express permission. No, she was the only one who would and could be found perched on the outer windowsills of his room because she was also the only one around who would and could get there from outside the building.

“He still thinks I’m just going to use his body and throw him away,” he said angrily, knowing his Head of Security would know exactly what it was he was talking about. He tossed the clothing in his hands into the laundry basket in the corner by the main door. Surprise, surprise, he was starting a conversation, and with Yuriko of all people. However, at least he knew no one would hear about this conversation from her. In truth, she did sometimes have pretty sound advice; so, perhaps hearing her opinion wasn’t a bad idea.

The room was decorated much like the one Fuji was using, except that it was in various shades of green with a varnished pinewood veneer floor in place of a carpet and a potted plant in three corners. Next to the main door was a wooden bookshelf and next to that, there was a mini-bar. The television, a beautiful stainless steel fifty-inch plasma one with two glass shelves below the screen for a DVD-player and a VCR, was directly opposite the bed, between the two doors on that wall. Instead of the candles, a large MP3-compatible CD-player complete with subwoofers and amplifiers stood on the chest of drawers.

It was also more spacious, since one of the four pinewood doors led to a walk-in closet. The door next to it led to his private bathroom, the one opposite that –next to his king-sized bed- to Fuji’s room, and the last one was the main door, which was presently behind him from where he stood at the foot of the bed facing the window. All wooden furnishings were pinewood and the walls were painted pastel green with viridian borders and an apple white plaster ceiling. The curtains were a rich emerald colour, the sheets and duvet beige with green bamboo prints, and the armchairs viridian leather.

“I wouldn’t blame him. He’s seen too much of that side of things.” The flat emotionless way she said such sentimental things was almost eerie.

Tezuka sat on the bed. “What have I done to make him think I’m the same as them?” he demanded.

Yuriko flicked her waist-length hair over her shoulder and crossed her slender legs, placing one booted foot against the wall. She was in a black leather cat suit today with matching stiletto boots, and the tailor-made garment fit her every curve perfectly. The belt with all her weapons was unchanged and there were a few soft clinks as she changed positions. “What have you done to make him think otherwise?” she asked in return, strangely managing to make it sound like a demand despite being inflectionless and near toneless.

“What more can I do without giving myself away?” the tycoon wondered aloud.

“Just tell him. He’ll be happy.”

“Out of the question. You know that. Somehow, he’ll talk me into taking him back to Japan to see his sister and...”

“What is unknown will not hurt,” came the toneless interruption.

“What makes you think he’ll allow himself to remain clandestine contraband?”

“He will.” Deep jet-black eyes slid towards her employer to catch the disbelieving look on the man’s face. She averted her gaze towards the sky. “You don’t understand, Tezuka-sama.”

A pause. “No,” he agreed. His Head of Security was probably the deepest and strangest person he had ever met and would ever meet, Fuji included.

The ghost of a smile flitted across those strangely vampiric features as that piercing gaze turned to settle on the nearby tree, and she rose to a squatting position that somehow managed to look graceful before turning to face him. She took in his expectant, confounded look for a long moment. “He loves you. More than you imagine,” she said at last.

The look she received in return obviously demanded proof.

“Sees you in his dreams. Calls your name,” she elaborated, and then she leapt off the high windowsill, doing a back flip to land lightly on a branch of the nearby tree before descending from higher branch to lower branch until she reached the lowest branch. Then she hopped off the lowest branch onto the ground without seeming to even break a sweat and ran off for her regular security checks, leaving the shipping magnate alone to his thoughts.


	5. Shadows

It had been twelve days, nearly a fortnight since Katsu had last come to see him. Fuji sighed as he gazed up at the white plaster of the ceiling from where he lay soaking in the tub. The bath salts Yuriko gave him were a strange blend of elderflower, jasmine, and rose salts, which strangely, smelled terrific as it pervaded the air and his senses. She appeared once a day on the outer ledge of the windowsill for a short chat (that consisted mostly of silences), often with a gift. The first day, it was a cactus that now sat on the dresser, much to his delight. The second, it was cookies, semi-sweet chocolate ones with macadamia nuts. On the third day, the day she brought the bath salts, he had complained that he was sick of having nothing to do except watch TV. The next day, she had brought him a **hamster** , complete with cage, toys, and food supply. It now lived in a corner of his room, next to the Japanese bamboo tree.

Two days of watching and playing with the furry critter, and Fuji Shuusuke had found himself again in the abyss of boredom. Never mind the fact that the little rodent reminded him of Yuuta; there was only so much one could do just one thing, after all. Then, the lady brought him an I-pod packed with music of every genre and language in the world. He had tried to refuse borrowing such an expensive item, only to find out that she wasn’t even planning on lending him the gadget; she had bought it for him, declaring that she was running out of things to do with her six-figure salary despite how more than half was already going to charity. And since, music was almost the same as TV in that it was passive entertainment, she came the following day with a book.

It was just the sort you’d expect her to read: Dante’s Inferno, an extremely interesting read; he had to admit. Yuriko had somehow managed to obtain a trilingual version in Italian, English, and Japanese, and he had to say that neither translation did the Italian original any justice. After he had finished that poetic description of the afterlife and considered taking his religion a little more seriously, she had proceeded to bring him a stack of horror stories by a variety of authors. And coming from her, he hadn’t really expected any less. What he had expected, however, was to be eternally grateful that his captor (he still refused to call the man master) had not come to use his services, but he **wasn’t**. In fact, he found himself almost missing it sometimes.

 _I like warm beds better,_ the other had said back then.

_Doesn’t everyone?_

_Don’t you?_

Yes, he did, admittedly. The cold emptiness of the room, the bed, and even his life was getting... almost unbearable.

He sighed, more drawn out than before, sliding his eyes shut as he allowed himself to sink deeper into the cooling water. There was something hauntingly familiar about that touch that he just couldn’t seem to place. He felt like he was doing one of those five-thousand-piece puzzles where every piece looked identical to the others. He recalled doing one depicting a collage of tennis balls and racquets with Yuuta as kids; it had taken them three months to finally complete it after dedicating two hours to it daily. The former tensai ran fingers though his damp hair, stifling a sob. Thinking of his deceased brother always saddened him so. He had taken to stargazing after the dream, but no, the stars still didn’t frown. He let the teardrops fall; he didn’t have many left anyway, having already cried too many before.

Reaching up to brush them away, he unplugged the drain hole with his other hand to let some of the now cool water flow out, before plugging it again when the tub was half-empty and turning the tap to top up with hot water. Brushing more tears away, he turned the tap again to stop the inflow of water when the tub was again full. He leaned back once more, closing his eyes and letting out a choked sob. He wanted the stars to ring with Yuuta’s laughter, but no, no, no... they didn’t even frown... If he had only gotten there in time... God, what was the use of having great reflexes when they hadn’t even managed to save the most precious person in his life? He threw a hard punch against the wall to his left, ignoring both the pain that travelled up his arm and the bruise that immediately began to form on the delicate skin covering his knuckles, before letting his arm fall to his side.

“Yuuta...” he choked out, his brother’s name softly. “Oh, I’m so sorry... so sorry...” He could still see, feel the warm blood, Yuuta’s blood pooling at his feet and knees as he knelt there screaming, screaming like he had never done in his life, not even when they raped him one after another again and again. “Yuuta...” _What is this pain... that stabs through my heart like a million daggers, whenever I think of you? It never stops, Yuuta; it never stops... Is there a cure?_ He was tired, so tired. The sorrow and pain was overwhelming him; every second, it grew more intense. He wrapped his arms around himself and drew his knees to his chest. It didn’t help. It was drowning him and it wouldn’t stop. “Stop... God, someone, please make it stop... make it stop! Make it stop!! MAKE IT STOP!!!” he screamed, hauling himself out of the tub with an arm and a leg. In his frustration, his limbs slipped, and he fell gracelessly to the floor, hitting his head hard on the cold marble with a loud thud. Darkness enveloped him in its peaceful shadow as he was welcomed into the arms of blissful oblivion.

~*~*~*~

Fuji cracked an eye open to the now familiar sight of round white lights on matte beige painted plaster and immediately regretted it. He groaned and rolled over, burrowing deeper into the covers; his head felt like Nittle Grasper was performing Shining Collection at full concert volume in it, something he would have enjoyed **outside** his head. He became aware of the click of a lighter nearby and the smell of cigarette smoke soon after. The heavy smoke didn’t smell normal; the cigarette was most probably laced with something stronger than tobacco.

“Marijuana,” he guessed in a quiet grunt.

“Cannabis,” came the correction in a certain half-American’s accented Japanese. “You’re pretty sharp though.”

The former tensai stiffened on the bed. Izumi. Memories of what had been done to him flooded his pain-blurred mind, and he briefly considered running, before coming to the realization that he:  
a) wasn’t likely to make it.  
b) wasn’t in any shape to even stand, let alone run.  
Thus, he simply checked himself to see if anything had happened while he had been unconscious. Since he wasn’t sore anywhere, he assumed that nothing had. “You do drugs,” he stated at last.

“Yeah, a little,” the other affirmed, exhaling audibly and blowing a puff of the thick smoke in his direction. He crinkled his nose at that; he had never liked the smell of cigarette smoke, let alone with the smoke of cannabis. Even if he had eventually grown accustomed to the stench, that didn’t mean he appreciated it being puffed in his face. “I had a little of the stuff put into my packs; I get them custom-made without the usual crap. Cannabis gives a stronger relaxation effect than nicotine, so I end up smoking less,” the blonde explained.

“~ Doesn’t make it any better for you,” Seigaku’s former tennis prodigy pointed out.

“No,” the Eurasian agreed. “But I don’t smoke unless I’m really stressed, nervous, or tired, and that’s pretty rare, so I’m not likely to get an addiction anytime soon.”

Fuji failed to see how that made using cannabis a good thing, but opted to keep his mouth shut. Nittle Grasper appeared to have presently turned down the volume of their performance, so he tried opening his eyes again. This time he managed to cast a wary glance at the willowy man currently standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in a sky blue dress shirt and a pair of tight-fitting jeans. “Which are you now?” he asked, looking away to take in the way the waning rays of the setting sun reflected off his hamster’s cage. The little critter was trapped in a cage, condemned to do the same things everyday, existing for the sole purpose of pleasing a master it knew next to nothing about. Now, didn’t that sound familiar?

The other caught the look he was thrown and smiled somewhat ruefully in response as he moved to seat himself on the dresser stool. “Tired. On plain tobacco, I’d need three where I now need smoke only one.” He took another drag and blew another puff of smoke into the air, looking in mild fascination at the rings the smoke seemed to be forming. “And don’t worry; I was just angry that day. I’m not really interested.” He paused as if in a moment of deep contemplation. “You’re too uke for my tastes,” he pronounced finally, as if it was an incredible revelation.

Despite the dull pounding in his head, the slave managed a chuckle. “I could say the same about you,” he retorted softly.

Izumi laughed cheerily, crossing his legs. “So I now have to increase my seme-factor, huh?”

“Yeah, the only people you could possibly top... are women and kids,” the beautiful brunet finished dryly after a moment of thought.

“You’re one to talk. I’m sure, if it weren’t for the biophysical aspect, you’d be topped by women too,” came the riposte.

“Even so, I’d never know. ~ Always been gay, remember?”

“Yeah, like Katsu-chan!” the other quipped instantly, bursting into laughter. Fuji managed a few more chuckles despite his throbbing head. “You two are just perfect for each other,” Izumi added amidst the mirth.

The laughter shortly dissolved into a long silence. Then...

“How long have I been out?” the blue-eyed beauty wondered aloud, breaking the stillness that had fallen.

“About a day.” Hazel eyes slid shut as their owner took a long drag off his cigarette. “I came yesterday evening to apologize for that day.” Another puff of smoke faded out above the blonde. “I was sitting, waiting for you come out of the bath, when you just suddenly started screaming your lungs out in there. Then there was a loud resounding thud and silence followed, so I quickly opened the door to find you out cold on the floor with a fine bruise on your head near the temple. I wrapped you up in a towel and deposited you on the bed, before calling Yuriko.”

“Oh...” was all he had to say.

“And speaking of Yuriko, she wants you to drink that.” The half-American pointed to a medium-sized glass bottle full of an opaque sienna-coloured liquid on the bedside table to his left, closed tightly with a cork.

“What is it?” He reached for the bottle, slowly sitting up in bed. The pounding in his head appeared to be worsening again, but he hadn’t mastered the art of drinking while lying down yet.

“Yuriko says it’ll make everything better. You wouldn’t want to know what’s in it though.”

Fuji felt a sense of déjà vu. It was like he was back in junior high being offered the glass of Inui’s latest juice after the other Regulars had already collapsed from it. It was good juice, really; they just lacked appreciation for it. The vinegar, though, he certainly shared their sentiments about. He wondered which one this drink was like... In any case, if he had survived Inui’s vinegar, he didn’t think this could faze him. He uncorked the bottle. A cloud of mist —yes, mist— came out in a sizable puff. The mixture began to bubble, and the more it bubbled, the more mist appeared.

Okay, Inui would probably be upset at having been outdone. Even his final and ultimate creation hadn’t misted. And while the mist felt cold on his cheek, the glass bottle was gradually growing warm in his hand. Taste aside, this was a chemical wonder and one gastronomic horror. Well, if it helped with his current misery... He downed the entirety of its contents in two gulps to be suitably astounded. Yes, Inui would be very, very impressed at this. It was **odourless** AND **tasteless**... like poison. It bubbled and misted, never mind the strange colour, but tasted almost like water. And if the receding pounding in his head was any indication, it was very effective too. He blinked, looking up dazedly at Izumi.

“I suppose it worked?” the blond enquired.

He nodded dumbly, still amazed.

“Well, whatever she puts into those drinks, they always do what they’re supposed to, so if she tells you to drink them, I suggest you take her advice.”

“And after she came?” he prompted, wanting to know what had happened in the time when he had been unconscious.

“Oh? She checked you for any serious injuries requiring first-aid before deciding that you could wait till the doctor came. Then, she called her doctor friend and reported the matter to Katsu-chan.”

“Oh...”

“You should have seen the guy’s face. Katsu-chan was so worried about you! He, like, dropped all the day’s appointments at work —declaring a personal emergency— to come and make sure you were okay. He was —I don’t know— three shades paler?” The half-American laughed.

Fuji remained silent. So Katsu really did care after all. Now he really felt sorry about what he had said the other day; even if it had just been a teasing remark, he had hurt the other’s feelings. Of course, there was also the possibility that the man was only concerned about the disappearance of good service and what to do with an illegal immigrant’s dead body in his house, but Fuji was really starting to doubt that was the case. He smiled slightly; it was nice to feel cared for after so long. He wondered when he would see —no, in retrospect, he never saw his captor— Katsu again. In spite of everything, he had perhaps been wrong about the man. That having been said, he probably owed Izumi an apology.

“Ne, Izumi-san?”

“Hm?”

“I’m... sorry.”

The other blinked.

“About that day. I was wrong.”

Another blink. “About?” the blond asked.

“About Katsu,” he clarified.

“Oh... Okay.” He nodded. “See, I told you he was nice.”

“Aa,” he agreed quietly. He hesitated. “I... What... What does he like?”

“Wow! A radical change of attitude!! I’m impressed,” Izumi declared extravagantly, in a way that sounded questionably sarcastic. “Well, I suppose you mean in bed, but that’s where I can’t help you. All his previous lovers said that he never accepted blow-jobs though.” The taller man paused thoughtfully. “I suppose it could be said that he genuinely enjoys work... and being a slave-driver, I suppose...” He mused over the idea. “Pun not intended,” he added as an afterthought, realizing what he had said.

A long silence fell between them before it was broken by a knock on the door, which Izumi went to answer. He opened it and a maid stepped in with a tray of food.

“Dinner’s early today. Yuriko-sama’s command,” she informed the half-American calmly.

He stepped aside for her to enter and she came in, setting the tray down on the coffee table before turning to leave.

“I’ll inform the master that Fuji-dono is awake,” she told Izumi as she passed by.

“No, I’m joining him for dinner soon. I’ll tell him,” he replied.

She nodded and left.

“So, you enjoy your dinner, and someone will be back later to blindfold and tie you in case Katsu decides to drop by tonight,” the half-American chirped, turning back to the slave sitting up in bed.

Fuji nodded and the blond left, shutting the door behind him.

Alone again, the former tensai stood and made his way over to the tray of food. There was a covered clay pot in the middle of it behind it was a plate of braised kale and tofu beside a medium-sized teapot. An empty teacup was next to the teapot and in front of the cup were his stainless steel spoon and chopsticks on a serviette. He knelt down before the tray and opened the clay pot, nearly choking on the large amount of steam that came out from it and dropping the very hot cover. He managed to put the cover aside though and found himself blinking at bubbling Korean samgyetang (Ginseng chicken soup). It smelled wonderful and despite lacking in hunger just moments ago, he found himself suddenly much in favour of eating. He poured himself a cup of tea from the pot, finding it to be an herbal blend smelling a little of flowers and roasted cereal.

Muttering an ‘itadakimasu’, he picked some flesh off the whole spring chicken in the soup with his chopsticks. Reaching under the meat with his spoon for the rice he knew would be there, he took a spoonful and blew gently on it before putting it into his mouth. He slowly ate, savouring each mouthful. The rice was fragrant, the tofu smooth, the vegetables fresh, and the soup tasty. Until he got here, he had rarely had the chance to eat decent meals, let alone such delicious food. It was only forty-five minutes later that he finished everything, feeling full. He sat back, leaning against an armchair and looking up at the ceiling. How long had he been here already? It had yet to reach a full month, but it felt like an eternity. In fact, it felt like the days were getting longer with each one that passed. He rose and moved over to the hamster cage to crouch down beside it.

“So, how have you been, Câlin?” he asked softly, opening the cage door and reaching in to pat the light brown rodent.

It scampered about, but paused when his finger stroked it lightly. Turning, it sniffed inquisitively at his finger before nipping it lightly. Reaching for the jar of food, he took a small amount and topped up the critter’s supply before closing the jar’s lid tightly, all with one hand. He leaned back against the bed, letting the hamster nibble his finger, lost in thought. He wondered when Katsu would come again and hoped he would come that very night, preferably just for nonsexual company. Not that he particularly minded the sex anymore —the man was as enthusiastic about giving pleasure as he was about taking it, unlike some other people he had known previously—, there was just more to life than that.

“Ow!!” he yelped in pain suddenly, jerking his hand back. Câlin had accidentally bitten down a tad too hard; his finger was bleeding slightly. He shut the cage door with his other hand and went to the bathroom to wash the wound. The cool running water stung as it rinsed away the blood. He let the water cleanse his finger, still lost in thought. _Would he have forgiven me for what I said?_ he wondered. His captor had indeed sounded rather upset.

He looked up at his image in the mirror. And blinked. Something was... wrong. He didn’t know what; it just was. The sex had at least had one visible benefit: A bit of a healthy glow had returned to his skin, so he looked somewhat less pale than before. In the light blue sweater and gray sweatpants he was wearing, he looked almost like the fifteen-year-old tennis prodigy all over again... which brought him to the problem: his eyes. They seemed bluer than he remembered them the last time he had looked in a mirror, brighter even perhaps. Somehow, the gray polluted sense seemed to have diminished... Was he really happier here? He turned the taps to stop the flow of water and sucked on the wound, since saliva was presently the best disinfectant he could get his hands on, exiting the bathroom to flop back gracelessly on the bed. Happy? The word seemed so foreign to him now after the past years. Well, perhaps things could turn out for the better after all.

~*~*~*~

“Another one, Tezuka-sama. The fifth this month,” Yuriko declared tonelessly as she stormed into the dining hall, dragging three unconscious men dressed completely in black like she was. The hem of her black Hellenistic robes swept the black marble floor slightly as she walked all the way to head of the table to drop her captives unceremoniously at her employer’s feet.

Tezuka Kunimitsu looked up calmly from his bowl of udon to meet her steady gaze before glancing down at the men sprawled at his feet, and then back up at his Head of Security. “Yuriko-san, can’t this wait till after dinner?” he asked politely. His pale green polo shirt and beige khakis were creaseless as he leaned back in his polished stainless steel chair.

“Not in their case, I’m afraid. They won’t stay out cold for long. And something has to be done about this, Tezuka-sama. One or two attempts per month is fine, but five is getting out of hand.”

“And what do you suggest we do about that, Chang-san?” Izumi piped in then from where he was seated on Tezuka’s right.

“Talk to the dragon lord, maybe,” she suggested, digging into one man’s pocket for the emblazoned gold ring she had found earlier to display it upon the table’s crystal clear glass surface. The emblem was that of a dragon coiling itself around three different swords crossed in the middle.

“Japanese Yakuza,” Tezuka voiced the thought they all had in mind.

“Miryuuken,” Izumi added. (Three Dragon Swords, if translated literally from the kanji)

The lady nodded her affirmative, and the shipping tycoon paused. The Miryuuken were one of the richest and most powerful Yakuza clans in Japan, the one that controlled the Tokyo underground. Their boss was also the current head of the Kanto Yakuza Alliance — not that they were particularly allied at all; they were only allies when fighting Yakuza from outside Kanto; at other times, they fought for dominance among themselves. It was also rumoured, interestingly enough, that it was a dragon **lady** who led them, not lord. And like the three swords upon their crest, they always did jobs in groups of three.

“But why would they send assassins this far?” he wondered aloud.

“Judging by their arsenal, they appear to be more thieves than assassins. And that might be something you'd like to ask your prisoner,” she replied, eerily detached. “I’ll dispose of them if they are of no use to you?”

“Find out their motive.”

“Certainly,” she responded in her monotonous voice, grabbing the three men by the collars of their clothes with one hand and exiting the dining hall, pushing on the stainless steel bar handle of the door with the other.

The tall glass doors swung shut behind her, and Tezuka turned back to his noodles thoughtfully. Fuji was probably in much deeper trouble than he had first imagined. Maybe it was time he started asking about the past twelve years... but did he dare hear the horrific realities the other had been through? He perpended that as he finished the remainder of his dinner. Yet, he never found an answer.

~*~*~*~

He was woken by the feel of warm and strong arms wrapped around him tightly and the familiar slightly spicy scent of cologne. Katsu. Fuji felt the smile coming to his lips and was mildly amazed. When had he begun to look forward to these nights, these nights when his captor would use his body and leave? Somehow, the idea didn’t fill him with such dread anymore. And somehow, just lying here like this, in this man’s arms... It felt safe; it felt like home. Appalling, yes, but he really couldn’t help that feeling. When had he begun to feel like he belonged here? He often wondered, but he still didn’t know. Soft kisses were pressed to the back of his neck enquiringly and he realized that, perhaps, he didn’t want to know. There were some things in life that people were just better off not knowing.

“Katsu,” he acknowledged softly.

“Mm,” came the reply as a face was buried in his hair. “Missed me?” The murmured question was clear despite being muffled by his thick mane.

Yes. Yes, of course. But he would be dead before he made that confession. “Hardly,” he replied nonchalantly. “Pets make good company.”

“I can see that.”

The former tensai refused to fall into the trap of showing that he recognized the implications in that quiet reply and promptly ignored them. “I called it Câlin. Isn’t it cute?” he asked instead.

“Can’t tell. It’s dark.”

“You should check it out. Sometimes I wish I had two, so one could keep the other company.”

“I’d rather not,” came the reply.

Fuji smiled. “Hmm... Why not?” he prodded.

A pause. “One’s enough trouble on its own,” the other said at last.

“But don’t you think it might get lonely?” he wondered.

Another pause. “Well, you play with it all the time, don’t you?” his captor asked shortly.

“Not really, I suppose. Sometimes I don’t really even pat it for a few days at a stretch.”

“Well... Then I guess you should just play with it more often, instead of getting another one,” the magnate advised. “For all you know, when the second one is put in, they might end up killing each other.”

“Hmm... True,” he granted. “But there’s also the possibility that they’ll learn to coexist, and I think I’ll like having two. Then, when one’s being temperamental, I can always play with the other.”

“I can’t say I disagree, but once you have two, you end up realizing how much easier it was to just have one, and perhaps regret getting the second,” the tycoon responded.

“Maybe,” he agreed.

He was satisfied with the conversation, and his captor probably wanted his ‘services’ anyway. Seigaku’s former prodigy turned to face the other man, who claimed his lips gently. Despite his bound wrists, he could still work on buttons, and since they would inevitably be removed anyway, he may as well be proactive about the clothes. Perhaps he’d be rewarded for taking the initiative. He reached for the ones on the mogul’s shirt only to be stopped by the man himself, who took both his hands in his left hand. With his right hand, he tilted Fuji’s head back to deepen the kiss they were sharing.

 _Perhaps he wants me to just lie still today,_ Fuji thought to himself as he kissed the other back.

His captor moved the kiss down in a trail from his lips to his throat to his collarbone, and then back up to his ear. “Are you alright?”

The murmured question took him by surprise even as a soft kiss was pressed to the bruise just slightly shy of his temple. “Aa. Just a little bruised,” he replied.

“Mm.” Strong arms were wrapped tightly around him again and he was drawn closer to the other, but that appeared to be all the other had in mind today.

And Fuji was nothing short of flabbergasted. _He doesn’t... Today, just to sleep?_ he wondered. It felt like a dream... Could it even be true? “You...”

“What were you thinking of?”

The former prodigy blinked. “Huh?” he tried.

“Before you fell, Izumi said he heard you screaming,” the other clarified. “What were you thinking of?”

Fuji stiffened. Was he ready to tell this man, about whom he knew next to nothing, the story of the past twelve years? Even if the man cared, did he trust him enough to let him see the pain he had carried with him for so long? Katsu. He was asking to see the cracks, how they had tried repeatedly to break him. Could he...?

Tezuka sensed his former teammate’s hesitation and realized that he really had no right to pry. It was too much trust to demand from someone who didn’t even know who he was. “It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me,” he said at last, tightening his embrace just briefly to emphasize the words, and a long silence fell over them.

Only the sound of slow, deep breathing was heard in the room illuminated solely by the moonlight filtering in through the window. He could see a few rays reflecting off his companion’s honey-brown hair, like magical highlights. How many nights had he fallen asleep just like this, watching the Moon Goddess cloak the form of his beautiful partner in her ethereal light, since they had begun their strange relationship more than sixteen years ago? He couldn’t remember and speaking of sleep, he wondered if the former tensai had drifted off already. Reaching up to stroke silken strands, he tested for a response.

“Yuuta.” Softly, quietly, just one word. Seigaku’s former tennis prodigy questioned the sanity of his decision.

The magnate blinked. “What?”

“Yuuta. My brother. I was thinking of my brother,” Fuji elucidated in the same quiet tone.

Tezuka fell silent. He wanted to ask ‘what about him?’, but it wasn’t his place to prod. If Fuji wanted to tell him more, he would, albeit perhaps in due time. He wouldn’t ask.

It was a long time before the tensai spoke again. “He’s dead,” he said at last.

So he had guessed right after all; Yuuta had indeed passed away. With that last detail, Fuji was saying that he was ready to talk. It was an invitation to question. “What happened?” he enquired gently then.

His slender companion leaned slightly into his embrace before speaking. “It all started twelve years ago, maybe more.” The willowy man sighed and fell silent, wondering for the umpteenth time why he was saying these things.

Tezuka continued to let soft hair slip through his fingers as he played with honey-brown strands.

“Tou-san once borrowed some money from his friend to help pay for a house big enough for my family to live in. He didn’t know the guy was linked to the Yakuza. Then, one day, tou-san had an argument with someone in some restaurant. He won the argument, so I suppose the other guy was royally pissed. Turns out, he’s one of the higher-ranking guys in the Tokyo Yakuza and somehow, he found out that tou-san still owes his friend some money. Thus, he took that as an excuse to trouble my family. He sent a note demanding repayment of the loan taken from one of his men, only with an insane amount of interest. Even if tou-san had wanted to pay them the money, it wasn’t as if he had that much; the sum they demanded was almost double the original amount borrowed. Where was he going to find all that cash in the one week they gave him to deliver it? So, they came one day, caught all of us, and burned the house down with everything that was of no value to them in it. Then...” His voice cracked and he stopped, rolling over to face away from the tycoon to hide the way his body was trembling and the tears he knew were beginning to fall, just in case they soaked through the blindfold. When had he sworn he would never cry before another again? He couldn’t remember, and the pledge had been broken the day Yuuta died anyway

Seigaku’s former captain simply continued to finger the other’s hair. It was all he could do.

His former teammate inhaled deeply to calm his nerves before continuing. “I... They gang-raped kaa-san and nee-san right before our eyes and, all tied up, there was nothing we could do.” A sob escaped his lips, and Tezuka could see him shuddering violently in the moonlight as he fought back the tears. His next words were filled with a frightening vehemence, despite his shaky voice interspersed with sobs. “Kaa-san, she... she died. Right there, right there before our eyes, they fucked her one after another to death, and then they kicked her dead body aside before dragging nee-san’s unconscious body away, presumably to some filthy brothel to force her into prostitution. Then, they grabbed tou-san and beat him. They wouldn’t listen no matter how we told them that we couldn’t pay them. Those sadistic bastards hit him again and again and again, but he refused to scream for them, so they bludgeoned him to death. No doubt it would have pleased them to do the same to my brother and I, but they still wanted the money, so they took us to the docks instead and made us work off the debt.” He paused again, choking back a few sobs.

The tycoon was stunned. He hadn’t known. All this time he had been making himself a fortune and a name here, Fuji had been suffering back in Japan. What kind of life the other must have been through! His hand had fallen motionless to the bed because he no longer felt like he had the strength to move. He didn’t deserve to even touch Fuji after all that. All those years, and he hadn’t even once tried to find out why his e-mails stopped receiving replies. All those years, and he hadn’t even once tried to visit Fuji or find out where he was. All those years... Those years when he could have done something to help him, save him, and he hadn’t. God, what had possessed him into ignoring the danger signs? He should have known that Fuji would never, never stop answering his e-mails, no matter how busy he was. He should have known and done something.

“That was okay.” Fuji’s cracking voice dragged him out of his thoughts as abruptly as a car crash. “Even if we were bullied. Even if I had to pay for our safety with my body, letting that sick filthy foreman fuck me, letting him and his bunch of sicko friends screw me one after another before leaving me bleeding and unconscious on the ground to die if Death would take me. Even if the work was hard and the food was scarce. I had Yuuta. We had each other. We could live. I could live. But no, no, no... Even that had to be wrenched away from me; just when we had learnt to be happy with what we had together, even that was taken away.” He had stopped fighting the tears, and sobs racked his body ever so often, but he pressed on.

“It was just another day at the docks moving cargo boxes as usual. I don’t know, maybe the metal was rusty or something snapped. I don’t care! They were moving a container to the ship we were working on. Yuuta was just going to get another box when I heard a creak from above him. The container. I screamed for him to look out, dropping whatever I was carrying, and ran to him as fast as I could, but no... He only had time to look up before the container fell, crashing down on him with a loud thud just I reached there. Even if I didn’t hear it, I can imagine the sick squelch that must have been there. I dropped to my knees even as warm blood flowed out from under the green metal, Yuuta’s blood pooling around me!” Fuji had raised his voice suddenly.

“I screamed and screamed just kneeling there, screamed like I had never screamed in my life. Yuuta... All the training, all the sprinting practice I’d ever done, all the time I spent improving my reflexes, everything!! It never felt more wasted; **life** never felt more wasted than in that moment, that moment when I couldn’t even save the one person that mattered most to me!!!” Fuji was screaming now, almost hysterical.

And all Tezuka could do was watch. What could he do for Fuji now? Twelve years of suffering, and all he had done was probably make things worse. How different was he from those sick twisted maniacs if he was continuing to torment Fuji this way? If only he had been less ignorant, less negligent... The signs had been right before his eyes. He should have known something was wrong and tried to find out what. He could have saved him, but no, he hadn’t even bothered to try. He had been so wrapped up in pursuing his own ambition that he had forgotten everything else that mattered. He didn’t deserve to have Fuji here with him at all! No, he didn’t deserve anything he had right now. What a price to pay for his single-mindedness. What had he done?

“I couldn’t save him! After everything I’d done, I still couldn’t save him!!!”

He pulled his hysterical companion back into a fierce hug because he didn’t know what else to do. The other didn’t fight it, just kept crying his heart out.

“I couldn’t save him...” the tensai moaned softly. “I couldn’t save him...”

Tezuka rubbed his former teammate’s back comfortingly. “I’m sorry, Fuji,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry...”

The other didn’t seem to hear him. “I couldn’t save him...” The pain in the words was heart-wrenching in its intensity, but there was nothing Tezuka could do to lessen it.

“And after that?” he asked finally, hoping to steer the other away from the memories of his brother’s death.

“After that...” The words were whispered a little hoarsely this time. “After that, I tried to run away, but they caught me, and I was gang-raped again. This time, when they left me to die, I was found by this old lady on her morning walk. She was ailing and in need of someone to look after her. She wasn’t rich, but she had some savings and a pension, just a bit more than enough to get by. She took me to her home, a small one-roomed hut just a ten-minute walk from the pier I was left at, and we struck a deal: I would take care of her and the house in exchange for food and shelter.” The slender brunet was calmer now, and the sobbing had diminished somewhat.

Tezuka just kept on rubbing his back gently in silence.

“So I stayed with her for some time. The few years I spent with her were peaceful, if nothing else, and for once, I had some semblance of a normal life. But old age soon got the better of her and she passed away, leaving me what little money she still had since she had no one else. I brought her body to a lonely pier that night and tied a rock to it. I said my prayers and thanks before sinking her into the sea. I’m sure she’d understand; it was the best I could do for her in my circumstances. I continued to live in her hut, but I knew the money wouldn’t last, so I spent some on something presentable to wear and looked for a job. Of course, I could always look for my friends, but I would only get them into trouble, and I couldn’t accept such charity as I knew they would give. So I started working in a little store selling sundries and spices, but the salary wouldn’t come until the end of the month, and I needed cash sooner.” He paused, reluctant to say what was to come.

Seigaku’s former captain understood. He knew the only thing Fuji could have done. He was a high school student with no documentation whatsoever. It was a miracle that the sundry shop had even agreed to employ him.

“I... I sold... the only thing I had to sell.” The words hung in silence of the room like an invisible weight.

Fuji really didn’t have to say anymore. The magnate knew exactly what that was. Because he held a beauty in his arms, he knew there wasn’t a gay club on planet Earth that would reject Fuji if he tried to trick for a living. But he also knew what it meant to the Fuji Shuusuke he had known; he may as well have been selling his soul. The shame, the indignity of it... He knew.

“I...”

And he silenced the other the only way he knew how, tasted the other’s pain on his lips as he kissed him deeply, felt the other’s desperation as he kissed him back. There was little else he could do for Fuji except to hold him and hope it was even a bit of comfort. But the story wasn’t at its end yet, and he had come too far not to hear it. When they broke off for air, he lightly pecked his companion on the forehead before asking for it tentatively. “So how did you end up here?”

The older man didn’t hesitate to reply this time. “They found me again, after some time, and dragged me back to the docks. They raped me again, but this time, I managed to crawl back to the main piers. I heard some of the men talking about a slave shipment to the USA and right then, I didn’t think I could take another day of life there at the docks, so I found the ship and sneaked on... Then you bought me,” he finished, voice still rather shaky, but he was no longer crying.

The tycoon cupped a smooth cheek tenderly and slid his eyes shut as its owner leaned into his touch. “Is that so bad?” he questioned softly.

“No.” There was no hesitation in the reply.

He paused, contemplating his next words. “Would you stay here forever?” he asked.

He heard the breath hitch in the other’s throat in surprise and waited, waited a very long time as he let his former teammate consider the offer, consider the choice he had decided to give him. Would he still choose freedom? He doubted Fuji even believed he wasn’t just hallucinating, since he had never been given a choice in the matter before. Finally... “If I could have one request...” the willowy brunette trailed off hesitantly, reluctantly. “I... You... I would have you as my master forever, on one condition.”

“What?” Tezuka was genuinely curious. What indeed would Fuji ask for?

Fuji hesitated to answer. “The only one,” he said at length.

The magnate blinked, he didn’t understand.

“I... I want you to swear that you won’t ever get another sex-slave.”

Now it was his turn to be surprised. He hadn’t expected that from Fuji. Still, he smiled slightly at that. It was almost laughable. Fuji couldn't have picked an easier condition for him to follow. Never mind the fact that Fuji Shuusuke was the only person he had ever thought of as sex on legs, Tezuka Kunimitsu was also inherently monogamous. And why would he seek another when he had the vision of perfection lying beside him right now on this very bed? How foolish it would be. “A high demand for a slave to make,” he murmured, lacing his voice with a tinge of amusement. _Silly, silly Fuji,_ he thought. _Just when I would have agreed to just about anything..._

“I’m not saying you can’t get married or anything, just no more slaves,” the other clarified.

Did that mean that Fuji was getting possessive? He supposed that meant that his attention was wanted now. The other had accepted him without even finding out who he really was. “I recall saying I’d rather just have one pet,” he agreed.

In spite of himself, Fuji laughed. “And too many people playing with the same hamster will kill it,” he chipped in.

Tezuka recognised the veiled reference to the past in those words. The other was saying that he'd rather have one master than go back to tricking for a living. Seigaku’s former buchou chose not to comment on that. “I’ll even stop tying you... on one condition,” he told his former teammate.

“What?”

“That once it is on, you’ll never remove the blindfold on your own without my express permission.”

Fuji contemplated the condition and realized that it made absolutely no difference. The man probably had his reasons for hiding his identity, and perhaps it was best he never knew. The condition wouldn’t change his situation. “I won’t,” he consented.

Tezuka untied first Fuji’s ankles, then his wrists before pulling him close. He would deal with the Miryuuken himself; Fuji didn’t have to know that the ghosts of his past were returning to haunt him. Silence descended upon them and the tensai tentatively slid one arm around his companion. Forever, huh? He hadn’t lied; it really wasn’t so bad. And if the man was willing to swear that he would never toss him aside for a new fuck-toy... Then, he would much rather stay than leave. Now that he knew what it could be like here, he didn’t think he could survive another round of that hell. And the talking seemed to have helped; he felt better now. Maybe it was because he had been alone for so long that the wounds had been left to fester. It was nice to know that he wasn’t anymore. He felt the other’s warm hand stroke his hair tenderly. It was pleasant, relaxing. Against his will, he felt his eyes slide shut and everything ceased to be. Only the warm feeling of the other’s company remained.


	6. La Luna

The leaves of the tree he was perched in were wet around him after the day’s earlier downpour. The man scratched at his neck absently as an insect flew by. The weather was growing warmer these days. Aiming his sniper rifle at one of the two guards patrolling the compound he was watching, he murmured to his partner on another branch to take out the one on the right. His finger curled on the trigger, but suddenly realized that his team-mate hadn’t given the affirmative. Before he could even turn, a gloved hand clamped over his mouth while another wrenched the gun from his hands before pulling him against a slender frame, effectively holding him both silent and still as he then heard the thump of his associate’s corpse on the grassy ground.

The soft curves told him it was a woman behind him, but one that wasn’t to be trifled with, since he hadn’t even heard her coming and killing his partner. Absently, he wondered if his other colleague was also dead. He struggled against her grip, but it was vice-like without her even tightening her hold; she was strong. He felt fear gripping him then, a paralyzing mind-numbing fear; his sister was still studying in high school, and if he died, there would be no one left to support her now that their parents were both dead, his sweet Ayuko. With the fear came adrenaline, and his heart raced, pounding against his ribcage like the rush of blood in his veins… that was suddenly flowing downwards.

Oh, God, he was hard, completely aroused from this sudden erotic rush of mixed fear and lust. It was twisted, but for all its sheer morbidity, he couldn’t keep from rutting against the wide tree branch he was kneeling on. He panted heavily; his pants were unbearably tight, and he needed, NEEDED to come. He moaned into his captor’s hand, and tried to create more friction where he needed it.  
Yuriko Chang watched with eerie detachment as the new poison she had concocted took effect on her prey, feeling only the mildest bit of self-satisfaction at the success. The odourless potion was meant to heighten the sensation of touch and stimulate lust and libido when inhaled, and she had liberally laced her gloves with it. The larger the quantity inhaled, the greater the need to orgasm. She adjusted her hold on the would-be assassin or thief as he tried once again to press against the branch’s rough surface in hopes of satisfying himself, effectively keeping him from moving. The muffled sound of anguish he made proved the efficacy of the poison.

Indeed this was only the preliminary effect. He would die within a month unless he either took the antidote, or had sex at least four days a week for the next four weeks. For his and his sister’s sakes, she hoped he had a highly active sex life. Unfortunately for them, she wasn’t going to tell him that. He groaned in her arms, breathing growing more ragged, which caused him to breathe more deeply of the poison fumes, thus making the whole condition worse. It was a vicious cycle, and given sufficient time in this state, she was certain he’d wish she’d killed him instead of leaving him writhing in unsatisfied arousal. In truth, the antidote was in her perfume, but he really wasn’t smelling any of that right now.

“Lucky you…” she murmured against his soft short chestnut-coloured hair in an emotionless yet sensually mellifluous voice. “I’ll be sparing your life for now…”

Her right hand, the one not clamped over his mouth, slid down his lean muscular body towards his groin, and he shuddered, moaning wantonly and hating himself for that involuntary reaction to his adversary.

“See, I know where you’re from, so… I’d like you…”

Her hand dipped under his loose cotton pants and tight Y-fronts to brush against sensitive flesh, and he arched into the touch desperately with a muffled cry. The rubbing of the rough elasticised cloth of his briefs against the slit at the tip now wet with precum added a friction that drove him crazy as it joined with the smooth slide of her silk gloves on sensitive skin.

“…to return to your mistress…”

Slender gloved fingers wrapped around a heated shaft so hard and stiff she could almost feel the agonizing urgency in his limbs, and his hips bucked uncontrollably, tears falling from teal eyes unnoticed in his abject desperation.

“…and tell her…”

She began to stroke lightly, and his body responded helplessly, hips bucking and back arching urgently as he made incoherent pleading sounds.

“…that La Déesse de la Lune…” (La Déesse de la Lune – French for ‘The Goddess of the Moon’)

The hand around his length moved more roughly and faster, and he very nearly screamed into her other hand as he writhed in an urgent frenzy, trying to match the rhythm of her hard strokes.

“…awaits her sacrificial offerings…”

He felt the familiar tightening in his groin as his orgasm built. He was SO CLOSE. He cried out again, hips jerking violently as he felt himself reach the edge, but just before he could come, fingers pressed hard enough to hurt at the base of his erection, effectively cutting off the orgasm. The cry of agony that escaped him then as he threw his head back to rest on her shoulder might have been heart-rending to anyone else, but Yuriko paid it no heed.

“Do I make myself clear?” she lifted her hand off his mouth to let him speak.

“YES!!” he cried desperately. “OH, GOD, PLEASE!!!” he begged. And when he finally did come, he did so with a loud cry, and collapsed.

~*~*~*~

“One of the men has returned, my queen,” a lean young man in an expensive suit reported in a smooth tenor, slightly bowed with his right hand over his heart.

He wore a charming smile on his angular face framed by his straight chin-length auburn hair. He opened his striking onyx eyes then to watch his mistress’s reaction. The throne-like revolving armchair had its back with the clan’s emblem facing him. It had a polished gold frame padded with soft cushions covered in bright red silk embroidered with gold threads. The teak desk before it was polished and was almost clear save for a computer, a photo frame, and some papers. The photo frame held a picture of a smiling man with obsidian eyes and a black crew cut standing behind a young girl with chin-length honey-brown hair and sparkling blue eyes.

Behind the desk was an alcove the throne-like armchair was currently facing, and in the alcove sat an antique vase filled with a flower arrangement consisting mostly of lilies, behind which hung a painted scroll of the clan’s emblem. On either side of the room, an arch had been cut into a partition ornately carved from teakwood, forming a narrow corridor leading to more private chambers. A small chandelier illuminated the room with yellow light which reflected off the shiny surface of the red marble floor.

As the red-haired man watched, a slender hand adorned with ornamental gold claws on all fingers extended just enough for him to see it. A single finger curled in a beckoning gesture. He bowed again although he doubted she could see him, before turning to command the guards to let the man through. The chestnut-haired young man dressed in a black turtleneck and black slacks stepped into the room warily after a short while. He looked left and right, walking slowly and carefully, as if worried that something would just jump out of the shadows right then and swallow him.

A deep quiet chuckle from a corner startled him into near-panic, and he quickly turned to glance at the other newcomer to the room. It wasn’t much relief to find that it was only the oyabun’s other shatei-gashira, the quieter and more reserved one with purple chin-length hair, and the more cunning of the two that was often found mumbling to himself. He ran a hand through his short chestnut hair as he made his way to the centre of the room, feeling the beads of cold sweat there. Failure was never an option, but running away was worse than reporting back. At least if he came back, they’d leave Ayuko alone. [Oyabun = head of Yakuza clan. Shatei-gashira = second in rank after Oyabun]

He knelt in the middle of the room. “O-gashira,” he greeted. [O-gashira = title of Oyabun]

Very slowly, the revolving armchair turned to reveal its occupant, a young lady with long honey-brown hair tied up in a bun and secured with a golden pelican clip wearing a black, gold and red silk off-the-shoulder kimono and a beautifully painted Nomen. The visible skin showed her to be rather fair. She wore ornamental gold claws on all fingers, and she languidly raised one slender clawed finger to point at him. “You. What is your name?” she asked slowly in a soft but resonant soprano. [Nomen = mask for No, a traditional Japanese dance performance]

“Masaya, o-gashira, Yono Masaya.,” he answered.

“I suppose you failed, Masaya…” she continued softly, rising to delicate feet clad in black socks and gold and teak geta.

“Yes, o-gashira, I apologise… The security was too tight… There was a woman… I think she killed my partners single-handedly…”

“I wonder why she didn’t kill you too,” the red-haired shatei-gashira interjected then.

“S-She… She asked me to tell you something, o-gashira,” he stammered slightly, voice quivering. When the Oyabun inclined her head inquisitively, he continued. “She… She said that Ra… Ra Dessu De Ra Roon, was it? Well, she said whatever that was awaits your sacrificial offerings, o-gashira.”

Everyone turned at the sudden sharp intake of breath from the other shatei-gashira, who promptly began muttering incomprehensibly to himself.

A clawed hand slowly rose to press against a masked forehead as its partner extended to point a finger at her mumbling shatei-gashira. “If you have something to say, Ibu, say it properly and stop sounding like the voices in my head!” Her voice as she spoke gradually rose to a near screech at the end of the sentence.

The man called Ibu cleared his throat slightly and straightened from his leaning position against the teakwood partition. “La Déesse de la Lune,” he began. “The name is legendary in the arena of assassination. That was the name of one of the top five assassins from a now dead underground organization formed at the height of the Renaissance in Europe, The Grandis Iustitia or The “Great Justice” as they called themselves. The assassins and the leaders were symbolised with Tarot cards, the Major Arcana. The head of the organization was naturally Justice, and his seconds-in-commands were the Emperor and the Hierophant, while the top five assassins were the Moon, the Lovers, the Hermit, the Hanged Man, and Death. They were the world’s most highly skilled assassins in their time, although the Magician and the Devil were far more famous for their distinctly gruesome techniques. La Déesse de la Lune is the Moon as the name suggests, and she is said to be the best of them, although far less is known about her than of Thanatos and Serilda, the Lovers, or even Azrael, Death. If she guards the place, then it may take an army to get past her… However, if it is indeed the same Déesse de la Lune… She would be about 500 years old by now! The Grandis Iustitia was active in the 15th century!! It isn’t possible… unless she’s immortal, as many certainly believed her to be back then…”

There was a moment of seemingly contemplative silence when he finished. Then…

“The voices…” came a hoarse whisper.

The two shatei-gashira turned in near-panic to look at their mistress at that. Masaya blinked in surprise. A clawed hand was pressed to the mask’s forehead as if in pain now, while the other gripped the corner of the teak table hard.

“The voices are back again…” she continued in the same whisper.

A sudden chill had occupied the room. It didn’t escape Masaya’s notice, and he began to feel that something was very, very wrong. Abruptly, the Oyabun looked up, fixing blue eyes on her chestnut-haired subordinate who fell back in shock and immediately began backing away at the crazed glaze over the clear blue orbs he saw through the mask’s eyeholes. “O-O-gashira…” he stammered, teal eyes wide with fear out of the blue.

All languorousness gone from her limbs, the lady suddenly rushed at him with an unexpected burst of speed, grabbing him by the collar of his long-sleeved black turtleneck kneeling to lean over him as she pressed him to the floor. “You!! You!! Stop it!!!” she shrieked madly. “Stop the voices!! Stop it!! STOP IT!!!” The last was a frenzied screech that resounded in the small chamber accompanied by a berserk slashing at his neck with her claws. Blood splattered everywhere as it spurted out of his torn jugular and was flung madly about by her still slashing claws. They may have been ornamental, but the gold claws were sharp and, used this way, deadly.

“My queen…” The red-haired shatei-gashira began firmly, catching her slashing hand by the wrist in a firm grip.

“No!! The voi…” The other hand immediately flew up to slash at him instead, but he caught it deftly while thanking heaven for the reflexes that had earned him the title ‘Speed Demon’ in junior high, a pained look on his young face as she struggled valiantly against his much stronger grip. “Let me go!! The voi…”

“Ann-chan!! Stop it! Ann!! Ann!! Stop it!! He’s dead, Ann!! ANN!! STOP IT!!! HE’S DEAD!!!” he nearly shouted, shaking her slightly, thankful for the soundproofing on the walls. She stopped then, looking stunned and lost, the traditional mask having fallen off and her long hair having come undone in her abrupt maddened frenzy of movement. The honey-brown tresses fell about her face in an unruly mess, bloodstained like her face that suddenly looked like the fourteen-year-old girl he’d once had a crush on all over again, a face of one too young to have seen the ugliness of the world that now lay still and stark at her knees, a face now covered in a sheen of cold sweat that mingled with the trail of tears falling unnoticed from desperately searching and confused blue eyes. “K-Kamio-kun?” she asked, her voice sounding so small and lost now and twelve years younger than the twenty-nine-year-old woman before him.

He nodded then, pulling her close into a protective embrace, which she didn’t resist. She was shaking in his arms now, and sobbing softly. He sighed inaudibly. It had been like this ever since Tachibana-san had died an innocent bystander who had happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time more than ten years back, the unexpected and unintended victim of a Yakuza inter-clan brawl. His sister, who had always loved him fiercely, had broken under the shock and trauma, developing a form of schizophrenia and chronic Multiple Personality Disorder.

Often, she was a cold and bitter cynical queen who acted perfectly sane, if a little ruthless and homicidal at times. Other times, she would suddenly launch into this brutal berserker intent on destroying everything in her path. And once in a while, she would just break down, once again the sweet innocent eighteen-year-old crying for her long-dead brother, a brother whom he had loved like no other and to whom he’d sworn to protect her… which was why he had gone along when she had run to him after running away from the hospital’s psychiatric ward with her grand plan to murder the Oyabun of the clan that killed Tachibana Kippei, and then move on to destroying the other Yakuza clans in the country.

He tried to convince her otherwise, but that hadn’t worked, as useless as it was arguing with an insane person to be sensible. Thus, he had gone with her instead, in hopes of keeping her alive and at least helping her escape if things went wrong and turned ugly. Turns out her plan had been perfect, seeing as the Oyabun at the time had had quite the penchant for adolescent girls, and fortunately enough for her, she managed to catch his eye, successfully killing him with a metal hair-stick to the throat in the bedroom later. They’d had to burn the mattress with the body, soaked as it was with the man’s blood.

According to clan rules, however, that also made her the new Oyabun of the Miryuuken, a position the ruthless queen side of her simply refused to decline, which had inadvertently resulted in their present circumstances. Not really knowing how to run a Yakuza clan and not trusting the other clan members at first, she had come to him for help, help he couldn’t refuse for the same reason he had helped her get where she was in the first place. So here he was, shatei-gashira of the Miryuuken, the last career he’d ever even dreamt of having in his life. And Shinji had come with him, admittedly much better at running the clan than he would ever be. In any case, they had successfully maintained the clan’s power together even as Ann’s sanity had continued to fall apart.

“Kamio-kun… I… He… The voices…” she choked out through sobs and tears, voice cracking with emotion. “He put the voices in my head again…”

He rubbed her back comfortingly. “I know… It’s okay now… He’s dead… He’s gone… It’s okay…” In truth, he was worried; the berserker episodes were getting more frequent now. If this continued, she would probably have to be sent back to the asylum.

It was a moment before she nodded slowly, face still buried in his chest. He sighed softly, leaning back into a warm embrace as arms gently wrapped around his abdomen from behind. He looked up to briefly meet his lover’s gaze, the lover whose haircut Ann had suggested he match. Shinji always had a way of calming everything down for him. The other pressed a brief kiss to his temple, and Kamio shut his eyes. It was long time before they moved from that position, the thickening blood by then having long since pooled around their knees.

~*~*~*~

The scent of the trees mingled with the salty tang of the sea breeze that blew Yuriko’s long hair back from her face as she sat on a tree branch outside Tezuka’s garden, facing the sun setting into the horizon beyond the sea. It was a lovely sight even after the many centuries she had had to gaze at it. The green off-the-shoulder kimono she was wearing was the exact same shade of the tree leaves around her and trimmed with the colour of sunset. She inhaled deeply, sliding her eyes shut. The scent of the sea always reminded her of Venice… as did the abrupt somersault fall off the tree branch a flying dagger had her performing as she sent long needles in the direction of the attack.

A sharp hiss from behind her curved her lips into a rare smile. “Buon giorno,” she greeted softly as she turned to face her attacker, her melodious voice strangely lacking in the usual flatness. “Come siete? The Hermit is losing his touch. You normally manage at least a lock of hair, Enrico de Medici… Or should I call you Seth Nefer?” She even managed to sound amused as she pulled the dagger from where it had embedded itself in a tree trunk to absently twirl it in her gloved left hand. It would have shocked anyone in her present acquaintance. [Buon giorno. Come siete? = Good day. How are you? (Italian)]

“Bene. La vita e belle. It’s been five hundred years, Yuriko Chang. I admit I’m a trifle out of practice.” The dark-haired lean young man perched on the branch of another tree laughed a rich deep laugh. He appeared to be in his early thirties and the bass of his voice was rich with his Italian accent. “I see the Moon, however, has lost none of her lustre.” He closed his striking emerald green eyes as he wiped the thin line of blood off his clean-shaven cheek, leaving no sign of the scratch the needle had inflicted on his smooth tanned skin. “Perhaps I should call you Shang Li Lin then.” [Bene. La vita e belle. = Good. Life is beautiful. (Italian)]

She shook her head slightly at that. “No. It has been aeons since I have heard that name… I believe you prefer Enrico as well, don’t you?” At a slight nod from the other that leapt down to join her on the ground, elegant black sartorial robes swirling after him, she continued. “When did you leave Rome?”

“Impressive. You knew I was in Rome.” He nodded his approval, reaching for her gloved hand to retrieve his dagger before pressing a gentlemanly kiss to her left knuckles, which she allowed. When he didn’t release her hand, she led him towards the beach. The sky was darkening steadily overhead, revealing the stars in greater clarity, as green geta and black boot crunched on the soft sand simultaneously.

“Come now, love, insult me not. I’ve known you since before Memphis. I know how much you adore St. Peter’s Cathedral, despite the rustic splendour of Florence and Venice. And now that the Vatican has weakened so much since those turbulent days…” Her dark gaze rested on a face she had known almost as long as her lifetime as they strolled along the beach together. Few would ever see the warmth or the side of herself she showed Enrico, for he alone had been constant through the many centuries.

He inclined his head agreeably. “Venice misses your presence far more than Roma,” he offered, glancing in the direction of the mansion to the left. “You love these humans as much as ever, I see.”  
She shrugged slightly at that, refusing to argue the one point that they had never agreed on, choosing instead to ask another question. “What brings you to the land of technology and modernity, Enrico? You were never fond of the New World.”

The charming face turned serious at that. “Magician.” The brief silence hung heavy in the air after the emphasized enunciation of the word.

“Piérrôt. Piérrôt Leblanc.” Yuriko looked her former lover hard in the eyes. “The devil’s child lives?”

Now it was Enrico’s turn to shake his head. “We are the only immortals in the Grandis Iustitia, Yuriko. No, he used his abilities to reincarnate himself. Think of what he was.”

“The forbidden arts should never be reawakened.” She turned her gaze back to the sunset in the horizon. Piérrôt Leblanc, the devilish madman who called himself a Soul Mage in the 15th century and used the blackest of ancient dark arts. Only the combined abilities of Grandis Iustitia’s strongest craft users, the Hierophant, the Tower and the High Priestess, had kept him in check. The true crafts should have died out by the end of the Renaissance. Indeed, even their own kind should have died out by then, and for the most part, it had. They were the only two known exceptions thus far, the skills they had picked up throughout life as assassins having been the ultimate key to their survival. Leblanc’s appearance in this time was a huge upset of cosmic balance. “How did you know?”

“High Priestess.”

Yuriko turned in surprise. “Severa? She is here as well?”

The Hermit nodded. “She followed him when she found out his plan. Fifteen-year-old nun in the Vatican now. But her powers are gone. All that is left is her clairvoyance, which she used to locate me. She told me he would be here, and to kill him before he performs the dark ritual to release his powers. He can’t do it until his physical body is sixteen years of age. That’s six months and four days from today.”

“And I assume you’re here for my aid?”

“No. As long as he has yet to gain his full powers, I’m fine alone. I came to warn you… in case something unexpected happens.”

Her voice and expression had returned to the normal blankness now. “Do you know exactly where?”

He shook his head. “Only that he is here in Los Angeles.”

“Devil-spawn in the City of Angels.”

The man chuckled. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

But she had turned in the direction of the trees, her attention clearly on something else, and he sensed the sudden tension in her aura although there was no apparent change. And then she was gone.

~*~*~*~

Fuji was sitting perfectly still and silent on the bed in a pastel blue bathrobe, looking deeply lost in his thoughts, when Tezuka stepped into his room just after sundown. He turned in the direction of the door when it clicked shut, and allowed a slight smile to curve his lips when familiar fingertips tilted his chin up gently to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. It had been like this for a few nights now; his captor would come by only to sleep or for the occasional shoulder rub, always seeming quite exhausted.

“Thinking of something?” Tezuka murmured the question teasingly in his former teammate’s ear, sitting down beside his captive to run fingers through soft honey-brown strands.

The former tensai paused momentarily, hesitating, and then realized that he’d already told Katsu the worst of it. What difference did one more piece make? “Tezuka,” he said.

Seigaku’s former buchou froze, stroking fingers stilling in honey-brown locks. _Did he know? No._ He shook his head slightly. That wasn’t really possible, was it? Forcing himself to relax, he asked, “Who is that?”

“Someone…” Fuji’s smile grew rather nostalgic then. “Someone I knew quite a long time back… Someone wonderful,” he replied softly, almost sadly.

“Someone you loved?” the other tried tentatively, remembering an unexpected conversation with someone some time back. He rose and made his way to the window, opening it to let in the fresh night air.

There was a very long contemplative pause at that before the former tennis genius finally sighed. “Yes,” he affirmed. “Very much.”

The magnate turned to face him then, at a loss for words, even as a slight breeze picked up to play with the collar of his deep green polo shirt. He didn’t know how to respond to that. And suddenly, he didn’t have to, abruptly spared the effort of perpending it.

“Tezuka-sama!! Duck now!!!”

Before he could even blink, he was on the floor, a familiar form atop him, just as a bullet embedded itself in the opposite wall, a bullet that had just missed his head thanks as usual to his Head of Security, who had evidently leapt in through the window to push him out of the way. In a flash, Yuriko was up and moving, tugging him up and after her as she made for the door of the chamber. Right then, a metal clink sounded on the window sill behind them and something light bounced onto the carpeted floor of the room.

“Tear gas,” she pronounced, grabbing Fuji firmly and swiftly by the wrist as she said the words. “Out, out, out.” She practically threw them both out the door of the room within the span of three seconds before dashing back and jumping out the window in a blur.

Suddenly standing rather stunned in the corridor outside his room with his captor, Fuji Shuusuke finally had the silent moment he needed to process what had just taken place. However, he voiced the only coherent thought that remained in his mind. “Tezuka-sama?”

Tezuka Kunimitsu froze again, and this time, there was no escape. He slowly turned to look at his companion, and realized that narrowly escaping a bullet to the head may well have been the least of the day’s problems.

~*~*~*~

Just as she came upon the trees the assassins were perched in, Yuriko heard the whiz of daggers flying just before the sound of blades cutting and embedding themselves in human flesh resounded in her ears.

“Enrico.” She landed on a tree, facing the Hermit, even as two black-clad bodies fell to the ground with a soft resonant thud.

He slid a sideways glance at her in silence.

“Only two?”

He nodded, then inclined his head in curiosity.

“Not the same.” She leapt down to search the bodies.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The people we were originally dealing with always came in groups of three,” she clarified quietly.

“From their level of skill, it wouldn’t surprise me if one died along the way here.”

“No.” The absence of the Miryuuken ring on their persons only lent weight to the idea that these were a different bunch. She tore their clothes then, finally finding what she wanted tattooed on their backs. A large phoenix had been tattooed on in red, its long fiery tail wound around a long katana, and beneath it, a fine calligraphy of the clan name in black. “Suzaku Ichi Yakuza,” she read aloud softly.

“Kyoto bunch, one of the leading clans there,” Enrico verified.

“The first ones were Miryuuken. Tokyo.” She pulled the daggers from their throats and embedded them up to their hilts in the grassy ground to clean them before tossing them back to her companion.

“What could they possibly want so far from home?”

“I was going to tell you not to kill them, so we could find out.”

“Too late.”

“Yes, but this is starting to look like a bigger mess than I first assumed. The ones I interrogated said they were supposed to bring back my employer’s new guest for reasons they themselves did not know. I have a feeling it’s time I interrogated him.”

The other assassin shrugged. “Well, then, I shall leave you to it.”

“Magician.” She stated simply, glancing sideways at him.

“Yes.”

“Do not fail.”

“Such little faith you have in me.”

“You’re the one that claimed to be out of practice.”

He leaned over then to brush soft lips against hers briefly. “Not so bad that I can’t kill him before his powers return.”

“I certainly hope so,” she riposted in a murmur.

He smiled a charming smile at that. And then he was gone, vanishing into the night in little more than a blur of movement.

~*~*~*~

Fuji reached up and pulled the blindfold off angrily, his anger growing to fury at the sight of the familiar face wearing an unreadable expression that greeted his eyes. “I see. So you thought it’d be fun to use me this way, Tezuka Kunimitsu? Well, game over, buchou,” he ground out fiercely through gritted teeth before throwing the blindfold hard in the silent magnate’s direction, spinning on his heel, and storming off down the mansion’s curving marble stairs. If only he knew how much it hurt. _Dammit, I didn’t come all the way to a new land to be used as a slave by someone I once thought I could trust,_ he thought angrily, eyes stinging. He could have just told the truth, but no, he had to do all this shit. It was such a sick, sick joke.

It seemed to take a long moment of mental processing before Tezuka finally found the voice to call him. “Fuji… Wait.”

The former tensai of Seigaku broke into a run at that. The last thing he needed was to have that anal-retentive manipulated jerk see him crying. God, and he had just confessed how much he loved him too. _Shit, shit, shit…_

He ran under the stainless steel arch into the outer hallway only to be roughly apprehended by two guards at the door. “Yo, man, where do you think you’re going? The boss says you’re not to leave,” one of the tall and well-built African American men in black suits drawled.

He glanced up and around quickly, anxiously looking for an avenue of escape… only it was too late. At a wave from Tezuka, the men released him wordlessly and moved out of hearing range. He immediately lunged for the heavy wooden door, and scrambled to unlock it, but the tycoon grabbed his shoulders and whirled him around, pressing him up against the door he had been trying to open. 

“Let me go, Tezuka!!” Fuji shouted between angry tears. “You should have just fucking told me!!” He struggled against the strong grip to no avail, reaching up to hit Tezuka only to have his wrists caught and pinned to either side of his head.

“Stop it, Fuji! This is precisely the kind of irresponsible, unreasonable and ignorant behaviour I expected from you if you knew!!” Seigaku’s former captain returned sharply.

Cerulean blue eyes flared lividly at that, fully open now in their owner’s obvious rage. “Well, how do you expect me to react to this sick joke of yours?! Huh?!”

“If you had known from the start, you’d go straight back to being the manipulative and demanding tensai I knew, and make all kinds of unreasonable demands that you’d never let me refuse!!”

They were both yelling now.

“What unreasonable demands, Tezuka?! What would I have asked that would have been so impossible for you?! None of this bullshit justifies the mental hell you put me through!!”

“I can’t even let you out of this house, Fuji!! You’re illegal here, and if you get caught they’d just deport you back!! Do you think I want that?!! Do you think YOU want that?!!” He shoved the slender brunet brusquely against the door he had been trying to escape through, releasing him to run a hand through his hair. “Dammit, Fuji, I can’t even do anything then without implicating half the bloody industry!! Don’t you understand?! And you have always demonstrated precisely the kind of conceited disregard for circumstances that would lead to all kinds of requests, ranging from visiting the local sights to locating your sister in Japan, that would result in all kinds of complications I can’t even deal with! This isn’t high school tennis anymore, Fuji! I can’t afford those risks with you!!”

He gave the other a challenging look, which Fuji avoided by shifting his gaze to the shiny marble floor, leaning silently against the door. He couldn’t even deny that most of what Tezuka had said had some vein of truth in it. The extended silence was heavy in the air as taller man gazed down at shorter. Finally, it was amazingly Tezuka who found his tongue again first.

“I don’t suppose you’re still planning to leave.” He couldn’t expect Fuji to apologize, since it wasn’t really his fault, and even if it was, the former tensai was far too proud to do so anyway. But neither was he about to undermine his own reasoning by apologizing personally.

“I don’t suppose you’d let me,” the willowy man riposted quietly.

Tezuka shrugged slightly at that. “I don’t suppose Fuji Shuusuke would let me stop him.”

“I don’t suppose he has anywhere else to go.” Fuji looked up tentatively to meet a stern deep hazel gaze.

The mogul’s eyes softened at that. “Glad he finally noticed.”

The shorter brunet stepped forward to lean his head on his former captain’s shoulder then. Swallowing thickly, he finally asked the question he probably should have asked at least thirteen years ago. “Did you ever l—”

“I did,” the other interrupted quietly, winding an arm around him. “I do,” he added, realizing what the first had sounded like.

Fuji chuckled weakly, his eyes sliding shut as a genuinely happy niko formed on his visage. “I haven’t even finished.”

“Would you prefer a different answer?”

He simply shook his head. “What about fifteen years ago?”

“Perhaps.”

As he stepped away, the slender brunet mentally translated that to “I don’t know”, but figured that it didn’t matter anymore anyway. That’s when his gaze found itself past Tezuka and on the familiar blond figure standing with his head bowed just beyond the stainless steel arch in the sanded glass partition between the outer hallway and the living area, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides and visibly shaking with violent emotion. The magnate turned as well, following his gaze upon realizing that his attention had, for some reason, shifted.

“Izumi…” Tezuka acknowledged barely above a whisper, knowing this was one unavoidable storm that nothing he could or would say would assuage.

“TEN YEARS!!” the half-American bellowed, voice quivering with rage and hurt. “Ten years, Tezuka, and you couldn’t even tell me straight-off that he was your high school sweetheart!!” With that, Izumi spun around and sped up the stairs, running past Yuriko who only spared him a brief glance as she descended the stairs regally, obviously already aware of the situation.

Tezuka and Fuji had entered the living room by the time she reached the foot of the stairs, the taller of the two flinching almost imperceptibly at the resonating sound of his best friend’s room’s door slamming loudly shut upstairs. They paused when she approached and bowed to her employer.

“Forgive my negligence, Tezuka-sama. This should never have happened.” Her monotonous voice somehow managed to sound apologetic.

He shook his head. “You did your job.”

She straightened. “Not as well as I should have, but more importantly…Fuji-dono.” She waited for him to look up at her before continuing. “I’ll be direct. What’s between you and the Yakuza?”

Cerulean eyes blinked slowly. “You mean aside from their brutally murdering my parents, forcing my sister into prostitution, and my brother and me into near-slavery? Nothing.”

Circumstances dictated otherwise, however, she detected no deception in his reply. “With some of the most powerful clans in Japan after you, you might want to think a little harder on that answer. It can no longer be passed off as some crazy waka-gashira’s sick game.” At Tezuka’s questioning look, she clarified. “The Miryuuken are no longer the only ones looking for your new guest, Tezuka-sama, and unless the Japanese underground has taken to such decadent wastes of resources, which I highly doubt, it must be concluded that Fuji-dono here has something that at least two Oyabuns want very, very badly.”

Both Tezuka and Yuriko turned to look at the willowy brunet in question now, and Fuji sighed. Why couldn’t life just stay simple for once?

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to [tarot-flair](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/834132/) for saving a copy of this story and sending it to me long after I forgot the password to the files on my computer.
> 
> To answer the question of what I would have done with the story if I had finished it, the rest of the plot goes as follows:-
> 
> During Fuji's brief stint as a prostitute, one client turned out to be an old friend - Kirihara Akaya. Akaya was running from the Yakuza too because he had stolen something very important from them - a tiny microchip containing evidence implicating many highly ranked members of multiple clans in numerous crimes. Knowing he would eventually be caught and not wanting his efforts wasted, he left the microchip with Fuji, embedded it into the other's inner thigh with a small cut, where it remained with Fuji none the wiser. The Yakuza eventually found out, of course, which is why they are all pursuing Fuji now.
> 
> Piérrôt Leblanc (Magician) was reincarnated as the son of an Oyabun now studying in Los Angeles. He too seeks the chip to prevent his father and him getting imprisoned before he can regain his powers. When Enrico is found dead, Yuriko seeks out Piérrôt to find that he performed the ritual prematurely, losing his questionable sanity and proper control of his powers in the process. Piérrôt goes on a rampage, and they do battle, during which Yuriko finds out about the microchip.
> 
> After Piérrôt is destroyed permanently, Tezuka smuggles Fuji back to Japan where they turn the chip over to the authorities, Fuji gets his documentation in order and a large number of Yakuza are convicted for their crimes using the evidence in the microchip. They find that Yumiko too has passed away, and with nothing left for him in Japan, Fuji follows Tezuka back to the United States.


End file.
